The Upper Hand
by AllisonfromRavenclaw
Summary: What can drive a man ever toward hate with more force...than love? A story of loss, psychological instability, and the simple human misconseption that power heals all wounds.
1. Prologue

Dark shadows danced around her as she walked through the empty corridors.  They hid behind pillars, agitated by the echo of her footsteps, watching, always watching.  She pulled her bundle closer to her chest and tipped her face down toward it as she continued on, her steps quickening.  Her breath came rapidly, spurred on by fear and uncertainty, and it too danced around her in the echoes of the corridor.  Whispering, watching, whispering, watching…

_She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears of raw panic that were making their way out and began to jog.  She remembered the last time she was here at night. Walked down this corridor the first time free of care, innocent and unknowing.  Walked down it the second time ashamed, used, jaded…ashamed.  Ashamed!  Walked down it now, her third time, driven on by nothing but fierce love for one and pure hate for the one who had shamed her…used her._

_She reached the door at the end of the hall.  It was a massive door, ebony, with intricate carvings of family crests and mixed bloodlines scrawled down its front.  She stood for a moment, numbing herself, tracing with a shaking finger along the ridges and indentations.  Then she closed her eyes and felt the tiny heartbeat against her own, and it instilled her with new courage.  She raised her hand away from the door…and knocked._

_***_

The dark man working at his desk didn't acknowledge the knock at first.  Then his head snapped up irritably as it persisted.  He threw down his quill impatiently and stood, his chair scraping against the floor.

_"Who is it?" he snapped at the door. Silence.  "Come now, you'll not disturb me from my work--which I daresay is **much** more important than whatever you've come seeking after--and then waste my time?" Still no response.  Then a thought dawned on him. "I do not donate money to any cause, no matter how noble.  This family does not meddle in politics.  Sorry to disappoint you, but I suggest you leave by whatever godforsaken way you got in."_

_He was about to sit back down, thoroughly annoyed, when it came again…that soft, timid knocking._

_His patience, abridged by several drinks, reached the breaking point.  He reached the door in two, long, angry strides, wrenched the knob, and threw it open.  Then he blinked._

_A young, beautiful girl stood at the threshold.  She was looking at him with deep, dark eyes, full of recognition. But he didn't recognize her at all. Did he…?_

_"What is it, miss?" he hissed. "I don't have time for petty begging, if that's what you're here for.  I don't know how you got in, but—"_

_"You don't remember me?" she whispered, her voice sharp with edges of loathing. _

_He stared for a long moment… then he remembered.  That voice…filled with fear and pain, calling his name…his mouth curled into a smile.  Ah yes.  He remembered her well._

_"That's right," she whispered softer still, her voice quivering with disgust at his expression.  "But there's something—someone—you didn't bargain on."_

_He watched, panic mounting as she partially unwrapped the bundle in her arms.  He hadn't noticed that bundle before…it couldn't be…oh God no…_

_"Congratulations," she sobbed, thrusting the tiny, sleeping baby into his arms.  He stared down at it with disgust. No. No. NO!  He couldn't have a baby…not now…NOT WITH HER! It was a mudblood baby…filth!  What would his master think?_

_He paled._

_What would his master DO?  His mind raced, rationalized, analyzed.  He couldn't allow this…no.  This couldn't be.  There was no way to explain away a situation like this…all that was left to do for his benefit was to dispose of it.  Dispose of any evidence.  That was what he'd do…no problem.  He'd done things like this before._

_Pity this had to happen, though, he thought.  She was such a pretty girl._

_"Take your baby," he snarled, dropping the baby back into her hands so harshly that it woke with a start and began to cry.  "You may stay here the night…I will decide what to do with—about this in the morning. Come with me."_

_***_

He led her back down the corridor.  She hurried to keep up with his long stride…must be a family trait, she thought painfully…and tried to quiet her child at the same time.

_He led her down several different corridors and up a few staircases, never slowing, never speaking.  Finally, after an eternity of walking, he abruptly stopped before another door like the one to his own chambers.  He pulled a key from his robes and unlocked it.  Then he pushed it open, gesturing her to step inside.   _

_She had never actually been in this room before, but she knew it.  She could feel whose room this was. She stifled a sob and cried out to him with her mind: I'm sorry! I'm so sorry…  She heard the door swing shut behind her, and then…a key in the lock._

_She sniffed, laying the baby down on the pillows of the bed.  Her breath sounded oddly loud and echoed in this room.  She let a few tears slide down her cheeks and she bent down to undo her shoelaces…then she stopped.  Realized.  _

_Hers wasn't the only breath in the room._

_She whipped around; he was still standing there.  He breathed raggedly, his wand arm raised.  His wand…pointed straight at her.  She gasped and stared, wide eyed.  His eyes were dark, maniac, and his expression livid._

_She had only a moment to comprehend his intentions before they were upon her.  Words uttered softly from those lips…soft words that wrapped their power around her, comforting her, relaxing her, all in the moment before the burst of emerald light.  _

_In that last breath…that whisper of a second…before her soul slipped away…  in that fragment of a moment when her body collapsed to the floor, she heard a sound._

_The door burst open._


	2. Letters

_Dear Charity,_

In answer to your last letter:  things are fine here.  FINE.  Just like they always are.  That means shut up and quit worrying about me, if you didn't catch the insinuation.

_I am, of course, assuming you've gotten back from your holiday in Scotland as planned.  At least, I hope so.  I wouldn't want this laying around for three days so that your wretched, mentally handicapped house elf could nose about and read it.  If there are any drool spots on this parchment, be aware that they did NOT come from me._

_I've been doing absolutely nothing this holiday.  Not that it's necessarily a bad thing.  Father is blessedly absent most of the time attending some ball or gathering of his noble, reputable friends…oh, wait a minute.  This is my FATHER we're talking about, so it's more like he's gone to a let's-all-get-drunk-and-fondle-the-muggles get together with that group of alcoholic, paranoid schizophrenics he likes to deviate brilliantly evil schemes to take over the world with. But you didn't hear it from me._

_Astonishingly, I DID achieve some modicum of productivity here by myself.  Remember that Stimulatory Potion we were trying to invent during the last week of term?  The one we were going to brilliantly humiliate Black and Potter with, but couldn't finish because you chickened out and refused to sneak into Professor Duvall's private stores and BORROW that book of dangerous ingredients and their properties?  Well, I was wandering around Father's chambers yesterday, and apparently he had the exact same book stashed away with the rest of his "secret" Dark Arts supplies that "nobody knows about".  Honestly, if the man thinks I'm as lacking intelligence as HE is, he is sorely mistaken.  _

_Anyway, we were simply missing a measure-I-can't-remember of pickled Grindylowe loins… do you believe that?  Cleverest two potion students in the entire school, and together we didn't even think of it.  Jesus.  Blatantly obvious, if I do say so myself.  _

_I finished the potion, and it works like a charm.  Let's just say Black and Potter are going to start term with quite a…bang._

_ For the record, we'll just say that your presence was blunting my intellectual brilliance, shall we?_

_Well, that's all for now, and give your house elf my regards.  Tell her she's a nasty, blundering little imbecile and if she even TRIES to molest me again she'll have to get used to life as a no-handed house elf._

_Yours in GENIUS!_

_Severus     _

***

_Dear Severus,_

_You greasy little shit.  _(The corners of Severus's mouth quirked up as he read at his success at annoying her.)_  If I recall correctly, there were two people involved in the let's-steal-from-Professor-Duvall idea, and you wussed out in as equal a manner as I did.  _

_At any rate, I am glad to hear you completed that potion.  Though I can't help but wonder how it is you sound so certain that it will work?  Keeping in mind that the potion was made to deliver Black and Potter instant, noticeable, and ah… unmanageable… boners for a whole day, I am going to laugh my ass off if you tested it on yourself.  _(Severus blushed furiously but forced himself to read on.)_  I know you don't usually seem to mind self-inflicted pain, but…Jesus Christ, Sev._

_Wish I'd been there, though.  Seeing the brilliant genius Severus Snape walking the corridors of his dark manor with an enormous boner must have been a priceless image.  Perhaps I'll slip some of your own brilliance into your pumpkin juice one evening at dinner and we'll see what happens._

_My holiday went as well as can be expected, thank you for not asking, you little git.  But you'll never believe who I saw there.  The Yoda of Idiocy himself; the one, the only, Sirius Black.  I mean, I knew he was Scottish, but I'd dared to hope that wherever he lived it was far, far away from where we were going.  No such luck._

_The second day we were there, I was standing at this fruit stand thing with Mum (bear with me; my parents are muggles after all and they find fascination in such things), and I heard this voice behind me: "Well, well, well!  Couldnea say ah've seen such a pretty thing round hedre!  Whay doon't yeh come with me forda lettle walk, eh?" (I'm horrible at writing dialect; just make that five times less articulate and you get the picture.)  Then I turned around and he saw who I was.  Got this expression on his face like 'oh. GOD. Sev's friend…'  He didn't even say anything, just ran off.  It was the most hilarious thing I've ever seen.  I saw him a couple more times in town, but I think he was trying to avoid me._

_But Sev, you know, he's grown a goatee over the summer and I must say… _(Severus's jaw dropped in shock and indignation. "BLACK???" He howled.)_…And right there, I know you just made that face.  You know, the one where your eyes go all squinty and your mouth hangs open and you look like you're stoned…_(he quickly snapped his mouth shut.)_…Wish I could have been there for that one, too._

_By the way, I'm going to Diagon Alley the day before term begins.  Want to meet there?  We could go down Knockturn and look for some interesting potion ingredients…We haven't cooked up anything really good for Lupin and Pettigrew in awhile, and we've only got one year left to do it! _

_Owl me back if you're going to meet me,_

_Charity_

_P.S. – Give Trippy a break… she's a VERY good house elf, you know.  And she never tried to molest you!  She LIKES you, Sev, and all she did was kiss you on the cheek…_

Severus smirked as he folded the letter up and placed it in the drawer of his bedside table with her other letters.  He then ripped a scrap of parchment off of a discarded attempt at a Charms essay and scrawled a message back to her.

_Charity,_

_I haven't been to Diagon yet, so I'll see you there.  Father probably forgot anyway, so I can go when I please._

_Severus_

_PS: -- That elf did NOT just kiss me on the cheek, Char.  Sure, that's what it looked like, but could you see her hands? Didn't think so, but let me tell you, they weren't where they should have been._

Then he took the piece of string that had come on her letter and tied the scrap to her black owl's leg.  The owl screeched impatiently and Severus shoved a pellet ungraciously into its beak, earning himself a cut on the finger.

He may have gotten along with Charity well enough, but her owl positively _hated_ him.  

"Bye, Ink," he jeered at the owl as it swooped back out the window.

Charity had purchased the owl in her fifth year, and it had hated him from the start.  Then again, everyone had seemed to hate him in his fifth year.  Everyone except Charity.

Up until his fifth year, Severus had been something of a loner.  He didn't really have any friends, but it didn't bother him.  In fact, he preferred solitude to "companionship."  He'd tried making friends with all of the other Slytherins at first, but truth be told, they were just too stupid to get along with him.  They didn't get his jokes, didn't understand his scathing remarks, and couldn't figure out what he meant when he made snide remarks pertaining to Potter and Black's mysterious disappearances every night.  

He'd simply given up on the concept of friendship after awhile, and the concept of friendship seemed to give up on him.  And he liked it that way.  What was the use of a friend, anyway?  Someone who followed you around all day, talking incessantly, and copied off of your homework?  There seemed to be a lot more negative aspects to the idea than positive.  Or at least, that was his opinion on the matter.

That is, until he found out that friends could be very, very useful indeed.

Severus's parents had never had a peachy, "Potter Family" relationship.  His father was as good a father as he was a husband, and that wasn't saying much.  He constantly cheated on his wife, and he barely even noticed his son.  Severus was infinitely grateful that he lived in such a big manor, or otherwise he would have to listen to his father's drunken rages every night. Yelling, screaming, hitting, throwing, every time his mother tried to reason with him.  Senan Snape was not a reasonable man.

Senan Snape was, in fact, a Death Eater.  One of the very first.  Not the typical Death Eater…the kind who fell to their knees in blubbery puddles of veneration and unremitting "My Lord"s…the quiet kind.  He worked behind the scenes, out of the spotlight.  As a result, he was feared.  The other Death Eaters noticed the respect he earned from Voldemort (while it wasn't much, it was more than they got), and they, in turn, respected him.  Senan Snape may have been impatient and unreasonable, but he was certainly clever.  He himself had created what he dubbed to be "The Snape Family Motto": "To maneuver in the shadow of silence and solitude is to have the upper hand."

It was one of the first—and only—things he had ever passed on to his son.  Ambition was more important to him than family.  Severus's mother was really the only one who talked to him and asked after him.  

Severus thought his mother was beautiful.  She had married Senan when she was very young, just out of Hogwarts.  She was pale, thin and fagile looking.  Her eyes were almond shaped, dark and liquid.  Deep.  Her skin was papery thin, her hair silky and long and black.  She had the look of a beautiful girl who had been shut inside a closet for too long, and in a way, that was exactly what she was.  Trapped.

Occasionally, Severus would notice bruises on her…her throat, her upper arms… and he would ask her about them.  She would just smile and smooth his hair back, those liquid eyes cloaked in mystery, and tell him not to worry.  So Severus didn't, although he knew he should.  He just didn't want to think about it.

When Severus had turned fourteen, the abuse spread like fire throughout the house.  It was no longer reserved for Senan's wife in chambers at night.  Severus began to hate him…but _couldn't_ hate him.  He wanted his father's approval so much…so _badly_…it became a mania.  He _needed_ it to survive…and he never got it.

After awhile, Severus's mother had had enough.  She could bear her own abuse, but not her son's.  One night, at a very late hour, she had come to Severus's bedchamber and woken him up.  She had nothing but one bag with her, and Severus hadn't had to ask what was going on.  He got up quickly and began to pack.  His mother hugged him fiercely and whispered to him that she'd be back and to wait for him here.  She just had to let his father know.

Severus sat on his bed for a long time, clutching at his bags and waiting…waiting…waiting.  Finally, the door burst open.  He stood instantly, grabbing up his bags, and then he froze.

Senan Snape had entered his son's chambers, and Severus's mother was nowhere in sight.  He stood towering over his son, breathing heavily, his eyes bulging with dark rage.  "Planned to go with the bitch?"

Severus stayed frozen.

"Planned to help her?"

…Frozen…

"Planned to leave your name?"

…Listening to his heart beating furiously…  

"Planned to leave all your pride behind?"

…beat…

"Planned to forget all that you have been given?"

…beat…

"PLANNED TO BETRAY YOUR FATHER????"

…beat…

"YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE BASTARD!"

…beat…

"I never wanted children."

…beat…

"I should have had you killed and gotten it over with right when you were born."

…BEAT…

"Look at all the pain you've caused."

…_BEAT_…

"She's dead, boy."

… …

"And for that, you can blame yourself."

Senan stopped speaking at this point.  Words were worthless.  They did nothing.  He did the only thing that ever gave him a satisfying response from his son.

…beat.

That had been over Christmas vacation.  Severus wouldn't have even gone home if it weren't for his mother.  His mother needed company…He never asked his father how she died.  Deep down, he knew. He knew… he should never have gone home…never…_look at all the pain you've caused_…

He went back to school the next day.  He skipped all his classes.  He spent the whole day in the prefects' bathroom.

He remembered it vividly.  Sitting there, leaning against the enormous bathtub, holding the razor.  It was so shiny, so flawless, so _sharp_.  So unlike the reflection he saw in it.  He hated it. _Look at all the pain you've caused…_

He spent the whole day just staring at that razor, working up the courage. _I never wanted children…_

And just as the last rays of the sun were cut off from the window, just as he lowered the razor, corner first, to his wrist…

BAM.

The door to the prefects' bathroom flew open, and in charged Charity.  He'd locked the door, and she'd been waiting for the bathroom for an HOUR, and what the hell had he been doing in there all day…

Then she spotted the blood as it started streaming down his arm.  She simply stared at him for a moment, shocked, as he looked blearily up and halfway registered that it was that one girl…that prefect from Ravenclaw…he sat by her in Potions sometimes…

He ignored her and slowly tried to force a grip into his other hand, grip the razor and just make that last cut…but before he could even lower the blade a foot swung at his hand from above him, crunching his bleeding arm against the bath.  He lost his grip immediately as blood began to cascade down the porcelain behind him.

She silently bent down and picked the bloody razor off of the floor.  Then she turned and shut the door to the bathroom, locking it magically. She then ran back to Severus.

She grabbed his bleeding arm and wrenched it up above his head, placing her wand tip over the gushing incision.  Within moments, all that remained as evidence of Severus's deed was the pool of blood he was sitting in and the splashes of dark red against the bath.  And the small scar on his left wrist.

He was definitely out of it, but he wasn't unconscious.  Even in his foggy state of mind, he would never forget what she did next.

She sat next to him, and talked. Just talked.

He never really paid attention to what she was saying, but her voice was soft, comforting, washing away the bloodstains on his soul.  She sat with him for the rest of the night.  In the morning, when they were both asleep on each other's shoulders and soaked through with his dried blood, the door burst open once more.

McGonagall had walked in, then.  She'd sent Severus to the hospital wing straight away, no matter how much he protested that he was all right.  Severus assumed Charity had explained what had happened.  He never asked her.  All he knew was that McGonagall—shockingly—never confronted him about it after that.  Not once.

From that point on, Severus and Charity had been inseparable.  He wasn't sure whether it was out of pity that she befriended him, or out of fear that he'd try to kill himself again.  She simply stayed with him for a week like a shadow, but eventually she'd made him talk. Made him tell her _everything_.

The two of them had remained mostly distant from all the other students.  Severus's hate of Potter and his friends had doubled after his mother's death; a mixture of envy and pure spite for everything Potter was.  Everything Severus wasn't.  Charity helped him deal with his anger in a most unconventional way.  She helped him come up with the best pranks to pull on them.  They never got caught, but they were always working on something.  Using potions was their best method, as they were both brilliant on the subject.

Now, about to begin their last year at Hogwarts, Severus's attempted suicide was almost forgotten.  Not forgotten enough that she didn't worry occasionally, but forgotten enough that it didn't stop them from having fun. Lots of fun.

He watched the owl soar out over the estate and into the blinding horizon, feeling that August 31 couldn't come soon enough. 


	3. Dinner

Pale sunlight streamed through the tiny windows in the Leaky Cauldron, catching the dust that floated restlessly through the air and giving it a millisecond's glory before it passed back into the dingy darkness.  Cups clinked against scrubbed wooden tables and the pub was filled with the chatter of those who were waiting for company.

Severus sat alone at a table in the corner, one leg curled under him as he waited for Charity.  A table of girls his age tittered and giggled in the center of the pub, many of them occasionally looking his way.  He smiled to himself.  That's what he liked about strangers.  When they didn't know him, they thought he was absolutely breathtaking.  Then they got closer, discovered his bitter cynicism and the rate at which his skin produced oil, and instantly backed off.  The waitress's shoes clicked over to him and she smiled down at him, asking him what he'd like to drink.

"No thanks," said Severus, waving his hand at her.  "I'm just waiting for someone."

She scowled at him, her expression clearly stating that if he wasn't going to spend any money, he shouldn't be taking up table space.  She said nothing, however, and soon bustled off to another table demanding service. 

Momentarily, the door to the leaky cauldron squeaked open.  Severus grinned, watching her search for him amidst the tables of prattling witches and wizards.  Eventually, she spotted his table in the shadows, smiled, and walked over.

"Should have known," she said, plunking herself down on the seat across from him. (The table of girls was suddenly silent, watching her closely with narrowed eyes and looking horribly disappointed.)  "Dark, silent table in the corner.  Where else would you be?"

The waitress quickly swooped over again.

"Anything to drink, miss?"

"Erm…" she said, biting her lip and peering into her purse.

"Get what you want," Severus said. "I'll cover you if you don't have enough."

She blushed, but said to the waitress, "I'll have a small butterbeer, thanks."

"No problem, dear," and she clip-clopped away again.

Severus took a moment just to admire his best friend as she pulled some coins out of her purse and began to count them.  Dark eyelashes fringed her equally dark eyes, pointing down to the money she counted.  Her long, thin fingers separated coins into small piles.  She bit her lip, dark brown hair flopping out from behind her ear and into her face.  She brushed it away impatiently; then paused, looking up at him.

"Sev."

"Hmm?"

"You're freaking me out."

"Fabulous."

She smirked and scooped the money back into her purse as her butterbeer was set down in front of her.

"That will be three knuts," the waitress said, holding out her hand.  Before Charity could fish three knuts out of her severely unorganized purse, Severus pulled the money out of his pocket and placed it in the waitress's hand.

"Thank you, sir," she said, acting much warmer to Severus now that he had deducted from the weight of his pockets. 

"You didn't have to do that," Charity scowled at him.  He shrugged. 

""Not my money anyway.  It's Father's, and I could care less what it goes for.  Ready to go?"

"Sure," she said, slinging her purse over her shoulder and grabbing up her bottle.  They made their way to the back door and out into the alley.  Severus pulled out his wand, tapped the bricks, and they were in.

They got the necessities taken care of first, and quickly.  They went to Flourish and Blott's to get their books, the Apothecary for required potion ingredients (from which Charity had to drag Severus: "Look, they sell that stuff plus tons more down Knockturn, and it's about five time cheaper, now I_come on!/I_"), got their parchment and quills, and finally headed down to Knocturn Alley for more….interesting supplies.

The Apothecary at the end of Knockturn Alley was definitely more satisfactory than the one in Diagon Alley.  Potion ingredients here were usually much more potent, and the making of them was not supervised or managed by the Ministry, so they sold for less.  

Severus ran his pale fingers over the row of alphabetized jars along one wall, stopping and tapping his fingertips on the glass of one.  It was a large jar reading "Pickled Mutated Grindylowe Loins."  His lips curled up unpleasantly, and he pulled the jar off of the shelf.

"_Mutated_ Grindylowe loins?"  said Charity, crinkling up her nose. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That means we're getting it," grinned Severus, adding it to the collection in the small cauldron he was also planning to buy.

"You don't need a jar that big!"

"You don't need a mouth that big, either, Char, but I don't say anything."

She scowled at him. Severus then waited impatiently as Charity finished making her meager selections.  Then they walked up to the counter together.

Severus plunked his cauldron down on the counter.

"Well, well, well," wheezed the witch as she began ringing up his purchase.  "Up to a lot of spending today, are we?"

"Yes," said Severus, winning a silent tug-of-war he'd been having with Charity on the other side of the counter, wrenching her jars out of her hands and placing them on the counter next to his cauldron.  "We most certainly are."

"Um, Sev…?"

He smiled cheekily at her, and pushed her jars toward the witch.

"_Sev!_"

"I told you, it's not my money anyway, it's Father's, and—"

"_No…That's not what I…!_"

"—I don't give a damn how much I spend—"

"Good to know my son respects the origins of his money," snapped a deep voice behind Severus.

He whipped around, back instantly rigid as a board, and stared up at his father.  Senan Snape smiled spitefully down at his son, and seemed about to make a chastising remark, when his eyes slid over to Charity.

"What are you doing here…I mean, I didn't know you were home…" babbled Severus uselessly.

"Yes," said Senan smoothly, his eyes still on Charity, who looked horribly nervous. "I came home from my duties in Austria last night, but apparently you were too daft to notice, hmmm?  Then I discovered one of my private, important books missing…and found it in my likewise missing son's chambers.  I then opened my safe and found that I was missing money.  Naturally, I came to buy some potion ingredients for an assignment I'm due to start working on, and find my missing son frivolously spending my missing money on unnecessary purchases most likely inspired by my missing book?"

"I'm sorry, sir—"

"Don't bother, Severus.  I wouldn't expect anything better out of _you_…And who is this?"

Severus's fear increased tenfold. "This…This is..erm…"

"Ch-Charity," she stuttered, holding out her hand. "N-nice to meet you, Mister Snape."

He laughed, a deep, sarcastic drawl, and then took her hand.  She gripped her fingers around his hand as if expecting to shake it, but instead Senan drew it up to his lips and kissed it, keeping his dark eyes on hers at all times. 

"I'm glad Severus has at least managed to make a friend so…worthy as yourself, Charity.  And that would be Charity…?"

"Uh, Charity Meisner," she said, attempting to pull her hand back from his in a subtle manner.  Severus flinched as she said her last name, and Charity glanced questioningly at him.  Her eyes flew back to Senan as his hand closed around her fingers tightly, crunching them together.  She looked as though she was trying hard not to wince, but failed miserably.

"Meisner?  I don't believe I've heard the name before….What House would you be in, Charity Meisner?"

"Ravenclaw," she replied promptly, and Severus positively blanched.

His fingers finally released hers and his eyes darkened frighteningly. "Ah, Ravenclaw," he smirked, glancing minutely at Severus, who was biting his lip. "The House for the intelligent ones of…unfortunate circumstances."

Severus tensed as Charity looked questioningly at him again, confused.

"Un-unfortunate circumstances, sir?" she ventured.

He only smiled at her.  "Tell me, Charity, what is your favorite main course?"

She blinked. "Er…"

"Well it's only proper that I invite my son's friend home for dinner," he said silkily, smiling wider.  "I've only just met you, and I'm _dying_ to know all about you…"

"She can't," said Severus quickly.  "She can't…her…mother doesn't—"

"She can owl her mother," Senan said firmly.  "I'm sure she wouldn't mind.  I'll see you both for dinner, then.  Shall we meet in the Dining Hall at approximately…six o'clock?"

They both just stared at him. 

"Six o'clock it is.  Good day to you, Miss Meisner," he smirked at her last name slightly.  Then he glared for an instant at his son, and swept out of the shop without another word.

Severus didn't like this.  There was just something not right about the way his father had responded…He heard a mutter behind him but ignored it…

"SIX GALLEONS!" Snapped the witch for the third time, and Severus jumped, grabbed a handful of gold coins from his pocket, and slammed them down on the counter.   He grabbed his cauldron in one arm, shoved Charity's jars at her with the other, and stormed out of the Apothecary.

"Wait…Sev! Slow down!" snapped Charity, practically jogging along beside him to match his long-legged stride.  His actions flew to the other end of the spectrum, and he stopped dead.  Charity ran into him, almost dropping her jars.  "What the hell is your problem???" she snarled.

"You have to go home," he said, a wild expression in his eyes as he looked at her.  "You have to go home _now_."

"What…No!  Why do I have to go home?"

"Because you can't come over for dinner.  You're going to go home, and I'm going to tell Father that you owled your mother but she said you couldn't come—"

"Maybe I _want_ to come."

He blinked at her.  "You don't."

"Why not?"

"My father is not…erm…a companionable host."

"I don't care.  I want to see your house."

"Manor, Char, it's a manor.  A big, dark, evil-looking manor with gargoyles and angry people living inside it _who don't take well to company!_"

"Your father didn't seem to mind me."

Severus paused.  "I know.  That's what seemed so…wrong.  He's not…He wouldn't normally…"

"I'm coming."

"NO."

"Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yesyesyesyesyes.  And it's five thirty, so we'd better get moving." She elbowed in front of him and started walking briskly toward Diagon Alley.

Severus lagged behind her for a moment, watching her walk, and moaned.  "Not. Smart."

***

There was only one word to describe dinner that night.  No, actually there were quite a few: awkward, unnerving, stiff, uncomfortable, dismal, and a plethora of other selective expressions.  It was mostly spent in silence, with Severus and Charity sitting on one side of the gargantuan table and Senan Snape sitting on the other side, staring unrelentingly at Charity as she ate.  Consequentially, she didn't eat much.

There was occasional conversation, either triggered by sudden and irrational remarks that burst out of Charity when she floundered under Senan's stare, or by Senan himself.  Severus remained silent.

"So tell me, Charity, how did you and my son meet?"

Charity's eyes widened and she looked straight over at Severus.  Always good at cloaking his emotions, Severus stared stonily back at her, shrugging impassively and unhelpfully.  Praying she'd say the right thing.

"We...uh…we were partners in Potions in our fifth year," she said quickly.  "And we were both pretty good at it, and I guess we just…got to be friends…"

"I see," said Senan, leaning back in his chair.  "Severus's fifth year was certainly an interesting one, wasn't it Severus?"

Severus stared determinedly down at his plate, twisting his napkin into grotesque shapes under the table.  "Interesting year," he mumbled.

"We rather enjoyed it, didn't we, Severus?"  Senan smiled coldly, Charity bit her lip, and Severus's thick cloth napkin was quietly ripped in two.

There was more silence for a while.

"What do your parents do for a living, Charity?"

Severus closed his eyes, waiting for the verbal blow that was sure to come.

"My father is…a-a pharmacist, and my mother is a florist," said Charity quietly.

"Ah, born to the muggle world, eh?" chuckled Senan without a trace of bitterness.  "Well, I daresay the wizarding world will have _much_ better uses for you…yes, much better uses…"  He smiled strangely at her, his thoughts obviously in some distant place.

That remark drove the rest of the evening into silence.  Severus watched carefully as his father continued staring at his best friend, and his best friend determinedly stared anywhere but at his father.  He watched as her dark eyes began to take in the cold world that was his home.

 The entirety of the Snape Manor seemed like a dungeon.  Even the Dining Hall, being one of the most glorified rooms, had a cold, white marble floor and stone walls.  There were hardly any decorations; a tapestry here and there.  The wall space was predominately taken up by large torches set evenly into brackets along the each wall.  Their flickering light was all the light provided in the place, and there were hardly any windows.  

It was pretty much just as Severus had described it: a big, dark, evil-looking place with gargoyles.  Lots of gargoyles…even inside.  Made for nasty surprises when you turned a corner and came face to face with an unexpected one.  What made things worse was that the gargoyles seemed to have a mind of their own.  They didn't move visibly, like the staircases at Hogwarts, but their facial expressions changed from time to time and they showed up in different places every day.  You could be looking at one, blink, and quite suddenly be looking at an empty corridor.

As dinner finally came to a close, Senan stood.  Charity jumped as Severus shot up from his seat as well, hastily mirroring his father's actions.  Looking uncertain, Charity also got to her feet.

"It's been lovely having you, Charity Meisner," said Senan with a hint of a sneer that only Severus caught.  "When will your mother be picking you up?"

"P-picking me…up…?" asked Charity, her eyes widening.  "I'm terribly sorry, but I thought—"

"Thought we'd be taking you home?" Senan said cordially, after letting her stand in silence and wait for his response for a long moment.

"Yes…b-but I can owl her…"

"No, no, no, we can't be bothering your mother at this late an hour, can we?" said Senan abruptly.  "I simply expected her to pick you up, and you simply expected me to take you home."  He smiled at her, and Severus could see her tense nervously.

"It's not a problem.  I'd be glad to take you home.  Severus, go call for the carriage." 

"I can take her home, Father, I know where she—"

"I said, call for the carriage, Severus," Senan snapped.  "You will stay here."

Severus stared at his father.

"_Now_." 

Severus flinched, but silently pushed his chair in and left the table.  He hurried down the main corridor, hating to leave Charity in such an awkward situation with his father.  _Why_ wouldn't his father just let Severus take her home?

Severus reached the end of the corridor, where the door to his father's chambers was, and turned left.  He broke into a run down that corridor, bursting out the door at the end and into the night.

"SKIPPY!" he bellowed.  Within moments a high-strung house elf sprinted up.

"Yes, Master Severus, sir?"

"Get the carriage ready."

"Yes sir!" And the little elf was off.  So was Severus.

He sprinted back down the hall, turned right, and ran back to the Dining Hall.  They were still standing there, like statues.  Charity was blushing and wringing her hands, looking down at her plate, and Senan was staring at her with a half smile on his face.

"The carriage…should be ready…" Severus panted.

Senan looked up at his son.  "Good."  He walked around to the other side of the table and held out his arm to Charity.  "Shall we?"  She smiled uncomfortably and took his arm.

"Get the elves to clean this up, Severus," Senan called back as he and Charity walked past Severus.  "Then go to your chambers."

"Bye, Sev," Charity whispered as she walked past. 

He watched as she and his father walked out into the corridor and turned.

"Bye," he whispered after she was gone.

***

Severus didn't sleep well that night.  He tossed and turned in the dark, hoping that Charity made it home all right, and wondering what on earth his father was playing at.

At least it was quiet, he thought at around three thirty in the morning, as he finally drifted off to sleep.  Good thing, really, living in a manor like this.  Everything was spaced so far apart that you couldn't hear a thing that went on outside your own chambers.


	4. Remember?

Rain misted down from the cottony grayness above, soaking the pavement with little puddles, as well as soaking Severus as he sprinted along the mostly empty Platform 9 ¾, his cart weaving crazily in front of him and squeaking incessantly. 

He ran at full speed, thanking his genes for long legs and excellent endurance as train compartments blurred past him.  Each leap forward seemed to propel him into a bigger puddle, and soon his shoes and socks were soaked through and freezing.

"Luggage, luggage, luggage, WHERE IS THE GODDAMN LUGGAGE!" he muttered, skidding to a halt and squinting through the rain on either side of him.  At last, he thought he could make out a small sign standing beside the train a distance to his right.  "LUGGAGE!" He cried again, this time relieved rather than agitated.

Just as he reached the sign, the train made an enormous hissing sound and groaned forward slightly. 

"NO!" he bellowed, pounding frantically on the closed door to the luggage compartment. "LET ME IN!"

Slowly accelerating still, the door finally burst open and an enormously irritated looking wizard stood in Severus's way.

"Here!" snapped Severus, practically chucking his trunk at the man.  Letting his cart fall to the pavement behind him, he leapt into the moving train.  "Why the HELL would they pull out so early??!  What do they think they're DOING?!"

The wizard, who had flown backward with Severus's trunk, was now sprawled against several knocked-down trunks, moaning and rubbing his back.  "They DIDN'T pull out early, you brat!"  He snarled at Severus.  "You're five minutes late!  Check your watch next time!"

"Well perhaps if they considered the quantity of students to board the train, coupled it with the weather, and tried to muster up some kind of acumen, they would wait a few goddamn minutes!  Doesn't take that much brainpower, does it?" 

Soaking wet and in a horribly nasty mood, Severus kicked his way past the fallen trunks and out into the corridor.  He stumbled along as the train sped up, peering into compartments as he went.  Finally, halfway down the corridor, he spotted Charity sitting in an otherwise empty compartment.

He slid the door open and stumbled in.  Charity was curled up in the seat by the window, her arms around her knees, staring out at the rain as it splattered the glass.  She glanced Severus's way, but barely seemed to take in the fact that he was soaking wet.

He sat down in the seat across from her, squelching uncomfortably as he did so.  "Euuuurrrrggh…" he groaned, leaning over and squeezing water out of his hair onto the floor.

He did this partially to annoy Charity, expecting some reprimand for making the floor slippery, or something, but she didn't even look at him.  He cleared his throat….no response.

"Erm," he said, deliberately flopping his hair back so that it sprayed her slightly with water.  "_Hello?_"

She jerked as the water hit her, turning her face to glare jokingly at him.  

"Hi, Sev," she snapped.  "Thanks for the shower."

He gaped at her.

 There were deep shadows under her eyes, and her face was pallid.  She had her arms around her knees, each hand gripping it's opposite arm, knuckles white.  Gripping.

"_Charity_," he gasped.  "You look wretched…!"

Her eyes flashed, and in an instant she looked almost back to normal.

"Gee, thanks, Sev," she snapped.  "You, on the other hand, look like a million knuts.  Love the dreadlocks, by the way."

He grinned, feeling somewhat, if not completely, relieved.  At least she _sounded_ normal.  "Well, sorry.  You just look…tired, I guess.  Did my father find your house all right last night?"

"Yes," she said quickly, looking back out the window.

"Sorry about that," he sighed, squeezing out a new puddle directly from his left pant leg.  "I wanted to take you home myself, but I guess Father likes you or something."

She continued staring out the window.

"Anyway," he said, moving on to another handful of sodden cloth,  "I've got something here with me that should make the Welcoming Feast quite a spectacle indeed…" He grinned, and pulled a small bottle out of his pocket, the contents of which were a murky, disgusting looking green.

Charity curled her lip at it.  "Is that the one with the mutated loins?"

"Right in one," Severus said, smiling at his bottle and shaking it slightly.  "Whipped up this batch last night.  Works like a charm."

Quite suddenly, Charity's face split into an enormous grin.

"Stand up, Sev," she said, looking intrigued.

"Why?" he said suspiciously.

"Just do it."

He was about to, but then he realized just why she was asking.

"NO!" He yelled, his cheeks tinged pink, highly affronted.  "It only lasts twelve hours, anyway!  You sick…!"

She burst out laughing.  More than just being embarrassed by the indication, Severus really didn't want her glancing at his pelvis every time he stood up.

"I thought you said it lasted twenty four hours?" she said, once she had finished laughing. 

"Well, the mutated grindylowe loins seem to shorten the length of the potion's effects.  But it makes it much more, er, powerful while it lasts."

By now he was fully red.  Even Charity was blushing slightly…or rather, she was temporarily of normal coloring.

Thankfully, the food cart arrived to break the tension with a selection of delightfully delectable snacks. Or at least Severus thought so.

"I'll take two bags of the Beans," said Severus, digging in his saturated pockets, "aaaand a cauldron cake.  Want anything Char?"

Quite apart from wanting anything, she looked like she was about to be sick at the thought.

"Or not," he said, eyeing her strangely.  He paid the witch and opened his Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans as the food cart went creaking away down the corridor.  "You sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine," she snapped rather defensively.  Then she gurgled and looked away as he put a bean into his mouth.

He almost choked to death on the bean in shock at the noise she made.  "Perhaps I'll just save these for later," he remarked, cinching the top of the bag and putting all his treats on an empty seat.

They went the rest of the trip in silence, and once the journey to Hogwarts was about a quarter of an hour from being over, Charity told Severus to change into his robes.

He left her in the compartment and ran back to the luggage compartment.  The man curled his lip at him.

"Oh bugger off," snapped Severus, "I just forgot my robes, that's all."

He located his trunk among the others, opened it, and pulled out his school robes.  He then found another empty compartment, peeled off his clothes, and threw on his robes.  He crumpled his wet clothes into a ball, deciding to carry them rather than throw them in the trunk with his dry clothes.

He walked back to the compartment and walked in without knocking.

Charity hadn't quite got her robes on, and quite a bit of her legs were showing. 

"Woops," said Severus.  "Sorry."  

To his complete shock, Charity went _hysterical_.

"GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT!" She screeched, looking panicked.

"What—I—" choked Severus, jumping.  "But you're dressed now--!"

"OUT!"

He flew back out into the corridor, eyes wide.  Good _God_…!  Had she always been that diffident?

The train slowed to a stop, and people began to join Severus out in the corridor, crowding around him and making an eruption of noise.  In the compartment behind him, Severus could have sworn he'd heard snuffling...  He would have gone to see what was wrong, but he was quite simply too terrified of Charity's wrath.  At any rate, in half a second the noise in the corridor around him was all he could hear, and he figured he must have imagined it.

"You coming?" He called timidly at the compartment door behind him as people started pushing past him to get off the train.  "We…we're here…"

"Go on!" she called back, and Severus wondered if the echoes of the voices around him were what made her voice sound strange.  "I'll catch you up in the Entrance Hall!"

"All right," he said, more to himself than to her, and he joined the stream of people pushing toward the exit.

***

Severus waited in the Entrance Hall for a very long time.  The rest of the students had gone in and sat down, and Dumbledore was standing as though he were about to speak.

"You!" hissed a voice by the doors to the Great Hall.  Minerva McGonagall was standing there, in front of a massive line of new first years.  She snatched him by the arm and shoved him toward the Slytherin table.  "Get a move on, Mr. Snape!  The sorting ceremony is about to begin!"

Severus couldn't help but glower down at the first years before he grudgingly yanked his arm out of McGonagall's grip.  He could have sworn that the wizarding population was getting shorter and shorter by the year…why, some of those first years were barely up to his waist!  

Smiling smugly at the look of pure terror he got out of the few closest to him, he stalked over to an empty seat at his House table and sat down, peering over toward the Ravenclaw table.  Perhaps Charity hadn't seen him…?

But she wasn't there.  He swiveled around and looked back toward the entrance hall, earning a raised eyebrow from McGonagall and an elbow in the ribs from a snooty Slytherin fifth year as Dumbledore began his annual speech.  She wasn't anywhere at all!

Throughout the feast, the Slytherins ignored Severus, and he them.  He periodically checked the Ravenclaw table and the Entrance Hall for any sign of Charity, but she was nowhere to be found.

Honestly! Severus snapped mentally.  If she was still upset about him walking in on her in the train, he had no intention of apologizing.  There was really no reason to be so immature about it…and DAMMIT!  If she didn't show up, how was he supposed to prank Black and Potter???

He glared over at the Gryffindor table.  Potter was telling some delightfully funny antic of his, with half of the table at his attention.  Within seconds, a great burst of laughter came from that direction.  Severus narrowed his eyes with disgust as he watched Black roar with laughter.  His mouth was probably full of food, spraying bits of potato and steak all over everyone, but nobody minded, ohhhh no.  Because it was handsome, popular Black, sooo clever, sooo close to Potter… 

He could just imagine the Gryffindor fourth year girls, simpering as his flecks of canine drool and half chewed meat landed in their hair:  "Ooooh!  We are sooo lucky, we got hit with Sirius's half-masticated cow…!"

Oh how he wanted to…

WHERE—WAS—CHARITY?????

She never showed up, and Severus was forced to endure the gloating laughter of happy, un-humiliated Gryffindors as he stormed past their table.

"Your hair looks exceptionally disgusting today, Snape, if I do say so myself!" Lupin crowed.

Normally, Severus would have thought of something brilliantly scathing to rebuke with, but in his current state, his anger was fixated wholly on someone else.

He ignored them, and marched straight up to the prefects' bathroom.  He was not surprised to find the door locked.

"CHARITY!" He roared, pounding on the door.  

Silence.

"I know you're in there!" He shouted, leaning on the doorframe.  "What the hell do you think you're playing at, eh?"

Nothing.  Then:

"Go. Away. Severus."

"I waited in the Entrance Hall until the sorting ceremony, Char!  I watched for you all through dinner!  WHERE WERE YOU?!"

"Just leave me alone!"

"What about the potion, Char???  You ruined the whole thing, you selfish—"

"LEAVE—"

"—stupid—"

"—ME—"

"—infuriating—"

"—ALONE--!"

"—wench!"

And with that, he whipped out his wand, snapped "alohamora" at the door handle, and burst into the bathroom.

Charity was curled up on the cushy bench beside the tub, laying on her side and facing the wall.  Severus stomped over to her, grabbed her arm, and yanked it so that she was forced to look at him.

In that instant, his universe flipped upside down, denying the laws of gravity and logistics, and leaving Severus with a wave of nausea he only barely fought back.  He let her arm go with a jolt, and it snapped back around her knees as if it were elastically connected to her body.

Her face was pale, much paler than it had been on the train, and her eyes were enormous, a likeness of a stunned and horrified Severus in each one.  Her face was streaked with tears, and she was shaking.  What horrified him beyond anything else, though, was her avid expression of fear.  Fear of _him_.

"I--" Severus stammered.  "I—didn't…What did I…What did I—do…?"

Her expression softened—or masked itself, Severus couldn't tell which—immediately.  

"Nothing, Sev…" She said quietly.  Then she looked up at him, and Severus thought he caught a hint of anger deep within those eyes.  "You did nothing.  Nothing."

He reached out to touch her face, but she jerked back so violently that he froze midway through the movement, his eyes widening.

"What happened to you?" He whispered.

"Nothing," she snapped, standing abruptly.  "I'm fine."

"But—"

"That means 'shut up and quit worrying, if you didn't catch the insinuation,'"  she said, forcing a smile on her face.  

Severus tried to smile back.

"Sorry I didn't turn up at dinner," she said, speaking rather quickly, turning her face away from him and wiping her cheeks with her sleeve.  "Truth was, I _was_ feeling a little bit sick.  I really didn't feel like eating, and I totally forgot about the potion."

"It's okay," said Severus cautiously, watching her back.  She turned around, her face dry, and smiled at him again.

"I'm going to go to bed.  I'll probably feel fine by morning."  She turned and walked toward the door.  

Just as she was about to leave, Severus whispered, "I told you everything, Char.  Remember?"

She stopped, but didn't turn around.  "I remember."  And then she was gone.

***

Over the next few weeks, Severus began seeing less and less of Charity.  He still sat by her in Potions, but she rarely showed up at meals, and he could never find her between classes.

As a result, Severus started feeling horrible.  He snapped at anyone who even brushed against him in the corridors, completely lost interest in taunting Potter and his gang, and completely devoted himself to his homework.  He did, after all, have his N.E.W.T.s coming up, and he wanted to be ready for them.  At least, that's how he reasoned with himself.

On the Thursday night of the third week of term, he was sitting, as usual, in his dark table in the corner of the Slytherin common room.  

**_Mandrake juice_**_ is a fundamental ingredient in many healing potions.  It can be found in Pepperup Potions, pain-relieving potions, and even some bone-mending elixirs because of its effect on the production of white blood cells and protein—_

SLAM.

Somewhere outside Severus's concentration, two hands had dropped from the sky, each grabbing a book cover.  The book had snapped shut directly under his nose, sending a cloud of dust unfurling in his face.

"Hardly the kind of thing _you_ need to be reading," sneered the voice of Lucius Malfoy above him.  Amazing how he could emphasize the word "you" in exactly the same way as Severus's father, even in the context of a compliment.  At least, Severus _thought_ it had been a compliment…

"The boys and I have seen how _hard_ you've been working," continued Lucius, smiling as he pushed a large pile of Severus's papers off of the table, so that they fluttered to the floor in a scattered mess.  He then moved to sit in the spot on the table where Severus's work had been; Severus stared, jaw slack, eyes squinted, down at the mess of papers at his feet.  "And we've decided to give you a break."

"Give me a break," Severus repeated faintly, still staring at the floor.

"Precisely," said Lucius. He lowered his voice.  "I notice your little mudblood friend has been avoiding you, Severus."  On any other occasion, Severus would have hexed him right then and there.  But circumstances being as they were, and Severus being somewhat angry with Charity anyway, all he did was look up at Lucius and narrow his eyes.  "Hardly surprising, though, is it?"

"What do you mean?" asked Severus suspiciously, staring up into Lucius's cold, calculating gray eyes.  

"Well, if there's one thing about mudbloods—" (there was that word again) "—that I've learned, it's their inconsistency…infidelity, if you will.  Sure, she was a good friend for a while, but then she got _bored_ with you.  Moved on."

Severus narrowed his eyes further. "What's your point?"

"Oh, come on, Severus.  Don't you want some _real_ friends?  Want to have some _real_ fun?  Why don't you hang out with the boys and me…we'll show you some good times, we will."

Severus didn't respond.  He bent down and started picking up his papers, shuffling them back into unruly piles.  His mind was racing.

Lucius and "the boys" were the most popular Slytherins at Hogwarts.  Nobody messed with them.  Nobody denied them.  Nobody _ignored_ them.  Severus knew that they sometimes got into trouble, but what did it hurt, really?  They were the type of people his father always wanted him to make friends with, and—a little thrill rushed through Severus—he would be _proud_ of Severus for getting in with Lucius's crowd…

He could always back out if he changed his mind, he told himself.  Why not?  Why seclude himself from everything and everyone just because _Charity_ didn't bother talking to him anymore?  And he was in desperate need of a little fun.

Severus felt a small smile form on his lips.  Yes, he would have _lots_ of fun with Lucius.  He didn't need Charity and her stupid pranks at all.

"Sure," he said to Lucius, and the blonde boy grinned at him.


	5. Potions and Surprises

"You sure you're up to this?"

"Yes."

"You won't be disappointed."

"I know."

Lucius clapped Severus on the back as Severus finished his task.  Severus held back a curse as he jerked forward with the contact, almost dumping far too much of his powdered gryphon claw solution into the crystal clear mixture.  He settled himself by glaring furiously at Lucius when the boy turned his blonde head away.

He stirred the solution in hastily, wanting it to bond with the other magical ingredients before it lost it's temperature.  When he was so lost in this kind of work, it was easy to forget just what it was for.  That's what Severus loved about working with Lucius…most of the potions he was asked to make required so much concentration that he didn't have to think about why he was here, stirring and dumping and mixing with Lucius instead of with Charity. 

Charity…Severus used the anger that thought gave him and mixed more ferociously, his eyes glittering.  Got bored.  Moved on.  Well, he'd see about that soon enough.  

Of course, brewing up Veritaserum in a dark corner of the Slytherin common room with stolen ingredients and a questionable recipe wouldn't merit the same results as actually buying the stuff.  But they couldn't do that, as you had to have a license from the Ministry to purchase it, and it was very hard to come by.

Severus stopped stirring, setting his tools aside and waiting for the concoction to cool.  This was his first "real" project from Lucius.  They were going to let him witness the results of this potion, and Severus couldn't wait. 

Charity couldn't care enough to entrust Severus with her secrets, even when he had shared his whole story…his whole _life_ with her without hesitation.  He had every right to know what she was hiding, and he planned to get it out of her.  Even if he was forced to take desperate measures.

"Finished!" he said as the steam from the Veritaserum dissipated before his eyes.  He pulled off his goggles and grinned at Lucius.  "It's ready as soon as you are."

Lucius's eyes were alight with excitement, burning as he bent over Severus's miniature cauldron and peered inside.  

"Evan," he said after a moment.  Evan Rosier, a burly sixth year with auburn hair, looked up from the group of huddled Slytherins waiting at the corner table.  "Come here."

Without saying a word, Rosier got up and walked over to the cauldron.  Lucius nodded to Severus, and Severus ladled a small amount of the Veritaserum into a phial, which Lucius took from him and handed to Rosier.

"Drink that."

Rosier eyed it nervously, glancing up at Severus and Lucius.  Then he gulped, threw his head back, dumped the potion down, and gulped again.  When he tipped his head back down, his eyes were completely vacant and unblinking.

"Evan, what do you think of Severus here?"

Severus opened his mouth indignantly, but Lucius shushed him.

"I think he's really smart," said Rosier, and Severus smirked.  "But he seriously needs a haircut and a nose job."  Severus's face instantly twisted into a sour expression.

"I'd say it works!" laughed Lucius, clapping Severus on the back again.

"And he's got a nice ass, too."

They both froze and stared back at Rosier, along with the entire table behind them, but the vacant glaze was gone from his eyes, and he was grinning.  Severus's shoulders slumped in relief.

"Well it doesn't last very long, does it?" continued Rosier, scratching his chin.  "I guess we'll just have to give bigger doses of this stuff."

"We can worry about that when we get there," said Severus dismissively.

"All right," said Lucius in a formal tone.  "Crabbe, Goyle, and…Rosier, you come too.  The rest of you, stay here.  We'll be back shortly."

They walked quietly up from the dungeons, Severus in the lead, Lucius behind him, smirking largely and carrying the cauldron.  Crabbe, Goyle, and Rosier flanked him on either side and behind.  

Halfway up the winding staircases of the North Tower was an enormous tapestry stretching up along the wall, seeming to disappear into the distance with the winding staircase.  Severus gestured the group of Slytherins to hang back, and they waited.  

The Ravenclaw tower was an invisible tower that ran alongside the North tower, connected by this portal.

Eventually, they heard footsteps, and a couple of chattering third year girls with Ravenclaw badges emerged onto the staircase.  They walked right past Lucius, Crabbe, Goyle, and Rosier without even noticing them.  As they approached the tapestry, Severus cleared his throat and stepped out from the shadows.  They both jumped and squeaked before turning slightly red and staring nervously up at him.

"Hi," said Severus, mustering up the sweetest voice he could.  They both blushed deeper.  "Do you know Charity Meisner?"

"Yes," said the girl on the left, awkwardly twirling a curl of sandy hair around her finger.  "She's one of the Ravenclaw prefects, right?  The one with the dark brown hair?"

Somewhere deep inside him, Severus felt a pang as he pictured Charity.  He quickly put it away and smiled down at the two girls. 

"That's right," he said.  "Could you go check if she's in there for me?  If she is, will you please tell her that Severus has something for her out here."

He knew, of course, that she'd be in there.  It was after supper, and Severus hadn't been able to find her after supper for three weeks.  She had to be in there.

"Okay!" chorused the girls, before muttering an incoherent password at the tapestry.  It split in two, pulling away from a small, circular door in the wall, which the girls crawled through.

As soon as the door closed, the tapestry fell back into one piece.  Moments later, it split again, and Severus felt a rush of adrenaline shake him.  Here she came…

Behind him, he heard Crabbe and Goyle move clumsily forward.  The circular door slowly creaked open.  Charity pulled herself through, looking down at the floor.  Severus tried not to let her gaunt appearance shock him.

Her hair was tangled and matted, hanging loosely over her shoulders.  There were hollows in her cheeks, and her skin had a pale sheen that was nearly reflective.

  As she closed the door behind her and looked up, Crabbe and Goyle seized her arms.

"What--!" she cried, staring in disbelief at Severus as they bound her hands behind her back.

"You're going to come for a little walk with us, Meisner," sneered Lucius coldly from behind him.  Severus avoided looking at her eyes.  Now that the moment was upon him, he found it slightly harder to deal with.

They dragged her a ways up the staircase, halfway between the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room and the Divination room.  Since classes were over for the evening, no one would come this far up the staircase.  No one would find them.

Crabbe and Goyle held her against the wall.  She stared from one face to the next, looking terrified.

"What are you doing? What do you want?"

"We just want to ask you a few questions, Charity," Severus forced himself to say coldly, and her dark eyes stared straight into his before he could guard himself against it.  Those eyes…just like his mother's…a beautiful girl locked inside a closet for too long…trapped…

Lucius noticed his hesitation and elbowed him impatiently.  Severus blinked, his expression clearing as Lucius handed him the cauldron.  Severus labeled half a goblet full of the Veritaserum before giving the cauldron back to Lucius.  Rosier stepped forward, pointing his wand square between Charity's eyes.

"Drink it."  Severus ordered, pressing the goblet against her lips.  She glanced down at the goblet, recognizing the potion inside it, and then stared defiantly at him, not moving.  Rosier glanced at Severus, his grip on his wand tightening.

"Drink it.  Now."

"Why don't you try asking me what you want to know without the potion first?" she said in a soft, venomous voice that Severus wasn't prepared for at all.  So unlike her…

"All right then," Severus growled, lowering the goblet.  He stepped closer to her so that their faces were only inches apart.  He forced himself to stare hard into those eyes until he'd numbed himself against them.

"Go on," she whispered almost incoherently, her mouth falling in a hard line.

"What are you hiding?"  Severus hissed lowly at her.  She finally flinched at the sound of his voice, and he smiled, relieved that he could force this kind of reaction out of her.  He repeated himself.

"Nothing," she said determinedly.

"Let's try again," Severus snarled.  "What are you hiding?"

"Nothing!"

"I'm going to give you one more chance," He said, moving his face still closer to hers. "_What are you hiding from me?_"

Quite suddenly, her lower lip fell from its firm line, trembling.

"I can't tell you."

"Why?" snapped Severus, almost forgetting the group of Slytherins huddled around him in his frustration.  This was what he really wanted to know.  What she was hiding didn't matter to him as much as _why_ she felt she shouldn't tell him.

"Because I don't want to…" she glanced at Crabbe and Goyle to either side of her before looking back at Severus with intense sorrow and anger written all over her face. "…hurt you."

He blinked.  Not at all the answer he was expecting.  Hurt him?  She didn't want to hurt him?  Didn't she realize that _not_ telling him was hurting Severus more than anything she could ever say?  But he was hurting her….  Suddenly a wave of guilt crashed over him, making the hand holding the goblet shake violently.

"Let her go," he said tonelessly.

"_WHAT?_" hissed Lucius.  "No! Don't let her go! Severus, what do you think you're playing at?!"

Severus turned around and dumped the contents of the goblet back into the cauldron Lucius was holding.  "Let her go," he repeated.  "Use this for whatever you want, but I don't need it for her."

Lucius gaped at him, looking furious.  "After all that trouble we went to—"

"_Let her go!_" Severus snarled, pulling out his wand.  "I don't care who you use that potion on, Lucius.  I made your potion; go use it.  Just leave."

Lucius eyed Severus's wand resentfully, before snapping his fingers at Crabbe and Goyle.  "Come on," he snapped sulkily.  Crabbe and Goyle let Charity go, not bothering to undo the bonds that tied her wrists together behind her back, and she slumped to the floor.  They both glared at Severus as they passed him.  Rosier lowered his wand, narrowing his eyes at Severus.  Lucius shook his head at Severus.

"It won't last, Severus," he muttered under his breath.  "She's a _mudblood!_"  

Then they all tramped away down the staircase, leaving Severus standing alone before Charity, the empty goblet still shaking in one hand, his wand in the other.  He squatted next to Charity, but she refused to look at him.  

He shakily set down the goblet, pushing her back forward slightly and performing a severing charm on her bonds.  He couldn't help but notice how she tensed when he touched her.  Once her wrists were free, Charity placed them on her lap and stared stubbornly at them.

He just looked at her for a moment, before croaking, "I'm sorry" in a voice most unlike his own.

She didn't respond; just pushed herself up off of the floor into a standing position.  Severus slowly rose after her.

"I was angry," he continued huskily.  

Finally, she looked up at him.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," she said emotionlessly and abruptly.  "I suppose I should say goodbye."

He stared at her.  "What do you mean you're leaving?"

"I mean," she said in that cold, quiet voice, "I'm leaving school.  Tomorrow.  I have my bags packed and everything."

"You're dropping out?" he asked, stunned.

"Dumbledore says I can finish my required courses by owl," she said.  "But I'm not sure I want to.  All I know is that I'm leaving for the rest of the year.  Going home."

"_Why_?" Severus breathed.  She shook her head, looking away from him, but when she responded, her voice quavered slightly.

"I'm not telling you."

There was a long pause.

  "Thanks for being my friend," she added sharply, making that wave of guilt cascade down over Severus again.  He blinked several times and reached out a shaking hand, watching her flinch as he tilted her chin up to look at him.

He just wanted her to forgive him, to make her stop hating him, to make her stop _fearing_ him the way she suddenly did.  Without thinking, he leaned down to brush his lips against hers, realizing how much he needed her to stay.

Their lips touched for a fraction of a second, his hand still softly at her chin, his other resting lightly on her arm.  He felt the coldness of her mouth and suddenly felt more guilt, seeking to fix it by deepening the kiss.  Then she jerked away from him so violently that she fell back against the wall, and tears began to stream down her cheeks from those eyes…those _eyes_…

His arms fell limply to his sides.

"Goodbye," she whispered, choking on the word, and stumbled away from him down the staircase in a terrified rush.

He sank down on the cold steps, staring slackly into the dark staircase where she had disappeared.  

Then, after an unknown amount of time just sitting and staring unblinkingly, Severus let his head drop down into his hands, and sobbed.      


	6. You Can't Change Who You Are

"Oh, _Severus_." 

Seconds, minutes, or hours later, a patronizing voice fell thickly over Severus's ears.  He lifted his head slowly, grazing his tear-stained cheeks against his sleeves as he did so.  The melodramatically concerned face of Lucius Malfoy loomed over him, eyebrows lifted and mouth quirked in a practiced look of sympathy.  But not even Lucius Malfoy could disguise his eyes, and they danced malevolently behind their gray screen.  Severus kept his face exanimate, standing silently.  He brushed past Lucius coldly, without a word.

"What did I tell you?"  he heard the voice call from above him on the staircase.  "Mudbloods are mudbloods, Severus!  You can't change them, no matter how badly you want to!"

He walked on, hearing quickened steps echo behind him, until he felt the inevitable hand on his shoulder.

"Severus, really.  She's not _worth_ all this trouble.  She'd have betrayed you anyway; at least it's over with now and you don't have it to look forward to—"

"You don't know what you're talking about, Lucius."

"Don't I?"  His eyes glittered voraciously now. 

"No," snapped Severus.  "You don't.  You don't know me, you don't know her, you don't know a Goddamn thing about any of it.  Just forget it, Lucius."

"I know that you've spent two years tagging after a no account mudblood who now seems to think that her Hogwarts education isn't nearly as important as getting away from you.  Where has it got you, Sev?  What worthwhile thing have you accomplished by being her friend?"

Severus stared at him.  What worthwhile thing had he accomplished?  Still being _alive_, perhaps?  Now that he thought about it, that didn't seem like such a worthwhile thing after all.  He was alive all right, and he probably wouldn't be if it weren't for Charity.  But what was he alive _for_?  His father hated him, the one person he'd thought he could always trust was leaving him, and in less than a year, he would set out into a world that didn't hold a place for him.  _Cheers, Malfoy_, he thought.

"Well, am I right?" continued Lucius in the tone of a harsh reprimand.  An arm slid over his shoulders, steering him back down toward the Slytherin Dungeons.  "Put it behind you, Severus.  We'll help you forget!  Good times, remember?"

"Right," said Severus bitterly, shaking off Lucius's arm of pretend comfort.  "Why don't you just go back to the common room, Lucius?  I don't quite feel like having your manipulation thrown in my face just now."

"And what'll you do," said Lucius, all pretense of empathy gone from his expression now.  "Sulk here a bit more?  Fall asleep on the steps like the pitiful excuse for a pureblood you are?  Wait for her to come out in the morning so you can latch onto her ankles and beg her to stay?  _Pathetic_!  I'm not manipulating you, Severus, I'm _guiding_ you!  Apparently your father's persuasion hasn't taught you any sense yet, so you'd better listen to me while you still can!  Not much more time before graduation, Sev.  Then where will you be?  _I'm your only hope_.  It's in your best interests to stick with me."

The last few sentences slid past Severus unheard.  The statement about "his father's persuasion" rang in his ears and dried his mouth.  Did Lucius Malfoy know more about Severus than he'd presumed?  Was there a threat weaved sinuously through the blonde boy's words, lurking behind the calm sheen of his eyes?  Severus knew that information could travel from Lucius to Senan quicker than lightning, knew all too well of the bond between Lucius's father and his own.  His heart began to beat in a paranoid dance of panic.

Lucius mistook Severus's alarmed silence for agreement (or perhaps not), and smiled.

"Knew you'd see the light soon enough, mate," he said softly, the glitter in his eyes evanescently dimmed.  "Come on, let's get you back to the _Slytherin_ common room, where you belong."

Too fearful to protest, Severus nodded, following Lucius obediently down the staircases and back into the arms of blackmailed acceptance.  He only looked back once. 

***

Charity never spoke to him again.  He would only ever see her two more times in his life.

One of those times was the very next morning, on the way to breakfast.  Severus followed Lucius's gang past the entrance hall and into the Great Hall, toward the Slytherin table.  He glanced briefly into the entrance hall as he passed, and saw her standing there.  She was surrounded by her luggage, wearing muggle clothes, and looking more pale and emaciated than ever.  She looked up, those deep, liquid brown eyes sending Severus's mind reeling back into painful memories he refused to relive.  He stubbornly looked away, making his way to the empty seat waiting for him.

***

By Christmas, he had forced himself to forget her almost completely.  She was nothing but a contretemps of his past, a figment of unimportance hardly worth thinking of.  At least, that's what he told himself when he did.  _Pull yourself together, Severus!_  His inner dialogue seemed to take on the dialect and tone of Lucius Malfoy.  _Don't be pathetic!_

Lucius kept him busy, and eventually Severus's wariness of him dulled into an almost friendly comradeship between the two.  Lucius and the boys all conversed on the same plane of sarcasm; an endless contest of words which Severus found himself a significant part of almost instantly.  They even joined him in taunting Potter and Black occasionally, though they let him have the lead role in scathing remarks.  A feral satisfaction came with every blow Severus dealt them, and he found that it helped to assuage the pain that lingered dully under his skin.  It felt wonderful just to see Potter's perfect composure falter, to see Black's façade of good nature crumble around him to reveal the worthless murderer within.  

Black had been punished for his crimes on Severus last year, but not nearly enough.  It was Severus's opinion that he surely should have been expelled.  But now that Dumbledore kept a close eye on Black regarding him, Severus knew that Black was harmless.  And that he hated it.  Severus planned to carry out the rest of Black's deserved punishment himself in a stream of cutting words, always proving he had the upper hand over Black and Potter with his last remark.  He always saved his most shattering blow for last.

    As the holidays grew nearer, students grew more and more rambunctious, itching to go home and be free of school.  As usual, Severus dreaded the holiday from school, spending whole nights awake thinking of a tolerable excuse to give his father for staying at school.  As usual, he could think of nothing satisfactory.  His father always wanted him home for the Chrismas holidays.  Not necessarily because he wanted to see his son, but because no child of a respectable pureblood family should be seen staying at Hogwarts for the holidays; only the witches and wizards with unfit homes to return to did that, and he wanted no one to question the suitability of the Snape Manor or its inhabitants.

A few days before the holidays began, however, a strange thing happened.

As the usual postprandial mail delivery owls swooped down over the Slytherin table one morning, a letter was dropped onto Severus's glinting plate bearing the wax seal of Senan Snape.  Receiving the first letter from his father in his entire Hogwarts career, Severus's fingers trembled as he circumspectly broke the seal and unfolded the crisp ivory parchment.

_Severus, _

_You cannot comprehend how relieved I am to hear that you have finally made some apposite friends.  I have been talking to Deucalion Malfoy frequently in the past few weeks, and he reports that his son's letters often mention you.  Good.  Getting familiar with a Malfoy can only be profitable.  It appears you are not totally incompetent, then._

_I've decided that it would be a good experience for you to spend this holiday with Lucius, Deucalion, and his wife Calliope at the Malfoy Manor.  I hope that a week with the Malfoys will have a good influence on you.  Press your advantages now, Severus.  As of yet, you have kept a good face with Lucius.  See that you do the same with Deucalion._

_You are to be ready at eight o'clock sharp this coming Sunday morning, when Lucius's carriage arrives.  See that you are on time.  Also see that you keep your tongue in check and only speak when it is appropriate.  And for God's sake, don't bandy about proclaiming that you have any affiliation with that muggle born friend of yours whatsoever._

_Do not embarrass me._

Senan Snape 

Severus looked up at Lucius, who seemed to be reading a letter along the same lines from his own father.  After a moment, Lucius looked up at him and grinned.

"Looks like we'll be spending Christmas together, eh?"

Severus grinned back.  Anything was better than home.

***

On Sunday morning, Severus and Lucius stood with their bags in the entrance hall, Albus Dumbledore waiting with them to see them off safely.  This made both of them slightly uncomfortable (especially Severus, who couldn't help but remember his previous confrontations with the headmaster concerning Black).  To ease the discomfort, they settled for peering out the frosted windows out into the grounds.  Snow blanketed everything, casting a sharp glare over the scene.  The sky was a cloudy white, causing an indistinct horizon which made the Hogwarts grounds look like a wall of bright white with only the patch of dark that was the Forbidden Forest and the tiny pinprick of the gamekeeper's hut to relieve its harshness.

Eventually, another contrasting silhouette loped into view, growing larger as it scaled the distance to the castle.  Lucius's carriage.

It pulled right up to the doors, a horseless carriage of shining black, all sharp angles and tinted glass.  A house elf threw the carriage doors open, and three more elves hopped out preceding him, to stand in a rigid line by the carriage as their fellow skipped up to the doors and knocked.

"Ah, here we are," said Dumbledore with false cheeriness, pulling one of the entrance hall's doors open to admit the small elf.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, sir!" squeaked the elf, bowing low and with much extravagant flailing of his hands and arms.  "Master Deucalion Malfoy sends his highest regards!"

"Yes, I'm sure he does," replied Dumbledore, not quite succeeding in hiding his distaste.  He said this pointedly, almost to wave a flag of disrespect, and Lucius curled his lip silently at the headmaster's back.

"Well, boys," said Dumbledore, turning to them as the house elf ushered to its fellows to come and take Severus and Lucius's luggage.  "Mister Malfoy, Mister Snape, I hope you both have a delightful holiday."  He seemed to say it only out of duty.

"And you, Headmaster," said Lucius haughtily, wearing a large, false smile.  They followed the elves who bore their luggage out the doors.

As the carriage pulled away, Severus could have sworn he saw Dumbledore's normally cheerful face, surrounded by its whitish auburn beard and hair, staring sadly at him.  But when Severus looked again, there were only the empty, frosty windows of the Hogwarts castle fading away behind him.

The trip was long, and Severus was in a half-dose for most of it.  Elaborate meals were brandished by the house elves, who seemed to pop out of thin air at their every whim.  They didn't reach the Malfoy manor until late that afternoon. 

A lake like rich black ink stretched out before the carriage as they approached, and at its other shore, Severus could see a colossal structure of deep gray stone and marble.  It was certainly bigger than the Snape Manor, and only slightly smaller than Hogwarts itself.  Its sharply angled turrets stabbed into the reddish sky, creating a most intimidating image indeed.  It was old.  Very old.

The carriage didn't decelerate whatsoever as it approached the lake.  Severus glanced nervously over at Lucius, who seemed to be plucking disinterestedly at his shoelaces.  He looked out the window; the carriage was still plodding along, and the lakeshore was only feet away!  He gripped his seat.

"…Lucius!?"

"Eh?"  said Lucius, looking up from his shoes.  But before Severus could ask him what was going on, the carriage was gliding smoothly over the surface of the lake as if it were solid ground.  He stared out the window in amazement; the wasn't a ripple in the black water as the carriage passed over it.

"Oh!" said Lucius, grinning.  "Only way to get in, that.  We have our carriages enchanted, you see.  That's why Father always sends for his guests, rather than having them come on their own.  Have a normal carriage try that, and it'll be swallowed up by the lake in seconds!"

"Ah," said Severus queasily, quickly averting his gaze from the lake and back into the carriage.

Soon enough, they were over the lake, and the carriage halted with a jolt before the vestibule.  Quite suddenly, there were all four house elves again, transporting their bags into the castle and opening the doors to Lucius and Severus.  

And there, right inside the entrance to the vestibule, stood Deucalion Malfoy.  He was a tall, slim, shining man, king of his own domain, and not unaware of it.  He was dressed in deep emerald robes trimmed with gold, and he wore it with a bearing that suggested it was merely casual wear.  His facial features were nearly identical to Lucius's, the sharp gray eyes sweeping over Severus, measuring him.  Severus stood tall, trying not to let the sick nervousness Deucalion's gaze triggered show on his face.

"Severus Snape," he said after a moment, smiling.  He held his hand out to Severus smoothly, and Severus took it, deliberating over whether he should actually bow or not.  Deucalion demanded such a presence that it almost seemed necessary, but Severus restrained himself.  _Don't embarrass me_…His father's letter echoed in his head.  He took Master Malfoy's hand and shook it.

"Excellent," said Deucalion, and Severus wasn't sure if he was referring to his choice of action or to his simply being there.  "I've been waiting to meet Senan's son for ages.  Your father is a great man, Severus.  I expect you'll turn out the same."

It was meant to be a compliment, and Severus smiled, but somewhere inside him a voice screamed, _NO!  Not like him_…  "Thank you, Mister Malfoy."

"Come inside, boys," he said, ushering them inside.  "Dinner awaits us."

Unlike the Snape Manor, which was bear of most any décor, the Malfoy Manor seemed to be bursting with it.  Marble floors of varying color paved their shining way to the dining hall, and if the walls were stone, they were dressed up so much that you hardly noticed.  Tapestries, portraits, and every other thing that reflected immense wealth imaginable lined the walls.  There were no torches; the Manor was obviously enchanted so that a crystal light shone in every corridor without a visible source.  There were no gargoyles.

    The dining hall was no different from the rest of the castle, if only slightly brighter and slightly more glorified.  The gargantuan table was set with four places; there were crystal plates, goblets, and silverware that spanned out seemingly a foot in each direction from each plate.  

"And this is my lovely wife, Calliope," said Deucalion as they entered.  Waiting by the table stood a beautiful young woman, blonde, and wearing an outrageously seductive set of "robes".  Severus blushed and forced his eyes to stay firmly on her face.  Doing this made him realize she looked like she could almost be a sister of Deucalion's.  He tried not to think about it.  Some families went far out of their way to ensure the purity of blood.  It would also explain the exact carbon copy each new generation made of his father…of course, Malfoys _always_ had sons.

Calliope held her hand out to Severus expectantly.  He took it, hesitating for a moment again in deliberation, before dipping his head down smoothly to kiss the top of her hand in a genteel display.  He stood rigidly again, smiling at her.  She smiled back, tossing her silvery hair.

"Like father, like son," said Deucalion, smiling strangely.  Severus didn't let the implications of that statement sink in.

"Let us dine!" said Deucalion.  At first, Severus stared at him, wondering why he would choose such a gaudy exclamation to announce dinner.  Then, as house elves streamed into the dining hall, he realized it had been an order.  They all sat.

Course after course after course arrived.  Severus ate until he could eat no more, and then he ate more anyway.  There was constant conversation between Deucalion and Calliope, but Lucius and Severus were hardly even acknowledged, and Severus followed Lucius's example and remained silent.  

When dinner was over, Deucalion ordered Lucius to show Severus to his rooms.  They walked along the brightly lit corridors, Lucius talking animatedly about the history of the Malfoy Manor as they walked, Severus hardly listening.  Eventually, they reached a large chamber door.  Lucius pulled it open and led Severus inside.

It was much like his rooms at the Snape Manor, only there was a large window on the west wall, and the floor was covered with an intricately weaved oriental rug.  Severus's bags were waiting neatly beside a large chest of drawers.

"Breakfast is at nine-thirty," explained Lucius.  "And lunch is at twelve-thirty.  Other than that, we basically have the whole place to ourselves.  Father is gone most of the day, and Mother doesn't interfere much."

Severus nodded.

"I'll leave you, then," continued Lucius.  "See you in the morning!"

And he left.

***

The holidays passed uneventfully.  Just as Lucius had said, they had the castle to themselves most of the time.  Deucalion and Calliope were present for breakfast and dinner everyday, but lunch was attended by only Lucius and Severus.  They spent much of the time touring the Malfoy Estate, Lucius showing Severus different booby traps and historical sites.  Other than that, time was spent lounging around and being served by what seemed to be an entire colony of house elves living somewhere in the castle.  

The last day before their return to Hogwarts passed just the same as the others.  That is, until after dinner.  Dinner was relatively silent that night, and after they had all stood and said their genial goodnights, Deucalion stopped Severus on his way out of the hall.

As Severus followed Lucius out into the corridor, he was startled by a heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Severus," said Deucalion as Severus turned to face him.  "Why don't you come with me for a moment?  There's someone your father has asked me to introduce you to."

Lucius stopped and looked around excitedly.  

"Not you, Lucius," said Deucalion sternly.  Lucius looked put out, but he turned albeit sulkily, and headed back to his chambers. Severus's stomach lurched, but he smiled and followed Lucius obediently.  They seemed to be taking the same route that was used to go to Severus's chambers.

In fact, they stopped at a portrait just to the right of Severus's chamber doors.  It was a painting of the Malfoy Manor; the same view Severus had gotten from across the lake that first day, painted in gray and black acrylics.  He watched as Deucalion ran his fingers gently down the front of the portrait, stopping at the edge of the inky lake.  Here, he pressed his fingers against the painting.  They sank right through the picture, pulling his hand in after them, and then part of his forearm.  Severus watched with amazement and Deucalion, his face a mask of concentration, fiddled with something on the other side of the painting.  There were several intricate clicks and scraps, and then Deucalion pulled his arm back out of the painting and waited patiently.

After a moment, an entire section of the wall, including the portrait, cracked away and swung out, revealing a doorway.  Through this doorway, Severus could see a narrow stone staircase angling steeply down into blackness.  On the inside of the wall/door was a torch.  Deucalion grabbed it, and it burst into flame.  He turned to Severus, wearing the same look of vehement excitement that his son often acquired.  He smiled at Severus.

"Follow me."

Severus followed.  The staircase seemed never-ending, and he could only see a few feet in front of him thanks to Deucalion's torch.  Finally, their feet hit level ground.  In a violent movement, Deucalion threw his torch up into the air.  There was a flash, and then the torch had disappeared, but a flickering light filled the…dungeons.  Severus looked around.

While the upper regions of the Malfoy Manor were decorative and shining, the dungeons were quite the contrary.  The walls were made of rough, gray, stone blocks, and the floor was cold black stone.  It was damp and musty, with a freezing draft wafting through occasionally.  The room they were in now was completely empty, but Severus could see tunnels and corridors stretching out in different directions.  From these corridors, an unearthly stench rolled in with each hollow gust of air.  

Deucalion breathed in the smell deeply, grinning at Severus.  "Travel those tunnels long enough," he said, "and you find they're connected to the catacombs.  Very convenient, let me tell you!"  He laughed: a harsh, sharp bark that echoed around the chamber.  The hair stood up at the nape of Severus's neck.

They waited.  Severus was unsure what they were waiting for, but was simply too nervous to ask.  Deucalion kept muttering things like, "any minute now.  Yes, any minute…" Severus tried to breathe through his mouth without Deucalion noticing.  The acrid smell of decay was overwhelming.  His heart beat faster with every moment passed.

Finally, there was a popping sound, and a man apparated into the dungeons.  He was tall and skeletally thin, dressed in hooded robes of plain black.  When he lowered his hood, Severus could see that his pupils were that of a cat's, and his irises were a strange gold tinged red.  They were framed with tilted black eyebrows, and his hair was of a long jet-black, cascading down over his shoulders.  His nose was curiously flat, nostrils upturned, giving him an even more skull-like appearance.  He had a thin mouth, which smiled at Deucalion in recognition.

"My Lord!" gasped Deucalion, falling to his knees.  He looked drunk with rapture, his gray eyes shining as he kissed the hem of the thin man's robes.

Severus was frozen.  He'd never really pictured the Dark Lord in the flesh before.  The way he was talked about, Severus thought of him as some surreal deity, a disconnected ruler of universal proportions, almost like a twisted version of God.  Somehow, seeing the Dark Lord in such a concentrated form was an even more frightening prospect.  Should he bow?  Kiss the hem of those black robes, like Deucalion?  _Run?_  This…man…inspired the same response from Severus as Senan did: frozen, terrified respect.  A fight or flight response that couldn't be acted upon.

Deucalion rose once more, his face flushed with feverish happiness.  He seemed to have forgotten that Severus was there.  The Dark Lord, however, was staring straight at him.

"This is the boy?  Senan's son?"  He rasped, his voice holding a strange melody.  It was strangely high-pitched, almost like a little boy's, but filled with a bloodlust that made it unrecognizable as a human voice.

"Yes, Lord," said Deucalion, and suddenly Severus felt a hand at the small of his back, Deucalion shoving him roughly forward, so that he stumbled to his knees.  "Severus Snape."

Severus stared at the floor, feeling the bile of terror rise in his throat.  He didn't move from the position he found himself thrust into.

"Severus," that voice commanded, almost in a singsong of corrupted power.  "Look up."

He obeyed.  The bloody irises captivated him.

"Are you impressed, boy?"  whispered the voice.

"Yes," Severus heard himself answer in a monotone.  He was breathless.

"Do you think I am powerful?"

"Yes."

"Yes," the Dark Lord agreed.  "I command more power than you could ever dream of, boy.  I can do anything.  Tell me, Severus.  What is it that you want more than anything?"

Severus thought for a moment.  He suddenly felt a fog uncurl in his brain, relieving his senses of their control, a sense of bliss unfurling over him.  He heard a whisper in his brain, telling him the answer.  Of course! Of course, that was what he wanted.  All he wanted.  All he _needed_.  It was the answer to everything.

"Power," he replied dreamily.  "Power!"

"Of course you do," said that seductive voice, slipping around him and through him, coaxing away all his worries.  And then,  "you are your father's son."

The euphoria broke.  _NO!  _Cried his mind again.  _Not like him!_  He blinked, hurt and confused to feel the chimera of elation disappear.

"You do not want to please your father?" The voice hissed now.

"Yes!" choked Severus frantically.  He did!  Oh, he did!  But he _couldn't_…

"You will," said the Dark Lord gently.  "You are confused.  I will show you the way."

"_Yes_."  The ecstasy was back.

"Stand up, Severus Snape."

He stood, barely aware of the movement.  His joints were oiled.  They worked smoothly, on their own.  It was _wonderful_.

"And follow me."

He followed.  They walked down into one of the slanted tunnels, flickering red light blossoming before them as they walked.  The walls were lined with bars, now.  Severus didn't even notice as the stench of decayed flesh increased in strength.  The Dark Lord stopped before a cell.  Inside this cell crouched an emaciated man, smeared with dirt and blood and sweat, chunks of his hair fallen to the floor around him.  Severus was disgusted.

"A muggle," the Dark Lord explained.  

"Filthy," Severus agreed, curling his lip.

"But see now…" He waved his hand over Severus's eyes, and the image of the dying man shimmered like sun on water, before rippling smoothly into an image of Sirius Black.  An illusion, but Severus was in such a state that it didn't matter.  He snarled audibly.  The image of Sirius Black stood, straight-backed and full of himself, grinning tauntingly at Severus.

"Just prod the knot," it teased, then burst into laughter.

"Does he deserve to go unpunished?"  whispered the Dark Lord.

"_No!_"  snapped Severus, and before he was aware of it, he had pulled his wand from his robes.  

"See what I can teach you, boy," the voice whispered in his mind.  He let the voice guide his wand arm up to point at the Black-illusion.  "_Crucio_," it whispered in his mind, and then Severus realized that the word had burst from his own lips, and that Sirius Black was on the floor, convulsing and screaming in agony.

"_I'm SORRY!"_ it screeched.

Severus felt a smile curl his lips.  _YES!_

"_Power_," whispered the voice again.  "_Power heals all…_"

Slowly, as Black sobbed and screamed before him, the foggy state of Severus's mind slipped away.  Before he knew it, he was fully conscious, fully himself, and torturing a half-dead muggle.  With a jerk, he wrenched his wand up in a frenzied effort to break the curse.  The man screeched louder than ever, before abruptly stopping and lying still on the cold floor, his tear-stained face glaring up at Severus in confusion and pain.  He shook.

"No," Severus mouthed.

"Yes," whispered the Dark Lord at his shoulder.  "You did that.  You _lived_ for that."

"No!"

"_Yes!_"

Without thinking, Severus turned and fled.  He ran blindly through the dark, crashing into the bars on either side of him, hearing the screams of the man echoing in his head.  He ran back up the staircase, not able to feel his muscles ache or his feet clatter against the stone.  Just _ran_.

"_It's who you are!_" The voice called in his head.  "_You can't change who you are!_"

He ran through the corridors.  He ran back to his chambers.  He slammed the door shut behind him, bolting it.  He couldn't lock out the voice.  "_You can't change who you are!_"

He collapsed on his bed, pulling his pillow down over his head.  He tried to drown out the voice in his head with his own voice.  He didn't realize what he was shouting until the voice had faded away.

"Look at all the pain you've caused! _Look at all the pain you've caused!_"

He stopped.  Silence.  Blessed, blessed silence.  Sleep now.

***

The tortured man in the dungeons was the only person to witness the conversation that took place after the boy's flight.  He stared up at the two dark figures, his eyes watering with pain.  He heard what they said.

"He is lost, Lord."

"He is far from lost."

"He did not listen!"

"Oh, Deucalion.  He listened.  He will keep listening.  He will not forget."

"But—"

"He is young, and he is troubled.  His mind is easily molded.  He will understand soon enough."

"Yes, My Lord."

"Yes.  Do not speak to him of it in the morning.  Warn Senan to say nothing.  He will discover who he is meant to be on his own.  His curiosity will drive him to my side."

"Yes."

"Do not fret, Deucalion.  We shall have him yet."


	7. Torn

_Peace is what they tell me._

_Love—am I unholy?_

_Lies are what they tell me._

_Despise you that control me._

_The peace is dead in my soul._

_I have blamed the reason for_

_My intentions poor._

_Yes I'm the one who_

_The only one who_

_Would carry on this far._

_Torn, I'm filthy._

_Born in my own misery._

_Stole all that you gave me._

_Control—you claim you save me._

_The peace is dead in my soul._

_I have blamed the reason for_

_My intentions poor._

_Yes I'm the one who_

_The only one who_

_                                                                       Would carry on this far. _**--Tremonti/Stapp:  "Torn"**

Dawn's cool light filled his chambers when Severus woke up the next morning.  His head throbbed with half-formed memories of the night before.  As if it had been a dream.  Upon reflection, Severus wasn't so sure it wasn't simply a dream.  The days and nights he had spent at the Malfoy Manor seemed to run together in an uneventful and redundant rhythm.  Part of him remembered Deucalion taking him down into the dungeons after dinner; part of him remembered going back to bed, just like he had every night before.  It felt like he had a sock in his brain, barricading the way to a clear reminiscence.   

He filtered through his memories.  Vague, disconnected sounds and scenes flashed unsteadily through Severus's mind, along with clear, general feelings:  dark, rancid, confused…but then even these thoughts seemed to contradict each other…proud, fulfilled, infatuated.  What was going on?  Then came a distinct impression:  responsible.  Quite a neutral word in any context, but then why did it bring with it a heavy, twisting sensation in his stomach?  Pain, pain, pain…  

He shook his head.  "Forget it," he muttered as he dragged himself out of bed.  "Dream."

As he took a step toward the chest of drawers containing his belongings, his shins hit something large, heavy, and solid.  He stumbled over it, just managing to catch his balance as he cursed.  He blinked and looked down to find his bags already packed, his Hogwarts robes lying neatly out beside them. 

Just as he finished fastening his robes, he heard a knock on his door.  He turned and stumbled over his bags again, repeated his curse, and walked to the door.  A tiny hint of apprehension sparked in his gut as he pulled it open.  It was quickly stifled and replaced by irritation as he stared out into the apparently empty corridor.  Then a high-pitched throat was cleared somewhere around his knees, and Severus jumped.

"What?" he snarled down to the house elf.

"I has come to collect your bags, sir," said the house elf, looking a tad huffy.  "Masters Malfoy are waiting for you in the dining hall."  And he pushed past Severus's knees and into the room.

Severus walked stiffly through the brightly lit corridors, squinting as the light seared past his eyes into a dull pocket of pain just behind them.  

When he reached the dining hall, Lucius greeted him eagerly and clapped him on the back rather hard.  Severus felt a stab of pain rip through his head as he lurched forward with the impact.

"Urgh," he said.

"Good morning, Severus," said Deucalion, standing to greet Severus in a formal manner.  His robes were a deep blue today, trimmed with silver.  "I trust you slept well?"

"Urgh," said Severus again, in the politest tone he could muster. 

"Ah, not feeling well?" smiled Deucalion, "Perhaps the trip back to school will rejuvenate you."

"Yes, perhaps," replied Severus dully.

They ate a large breakfast.  Or at least, those of Malfoy heritage ate a large breakfast.  Severus found that the mere sight of food made him slightly nauseated, but he downed a couple of pieces of toast anyway.

When breakfast was over, Deucalion sent them on their way.  Their bags were, of course, mysteriously stowed away with the house elves who would accompany them on their trip.

The lake glittered darkly as they crunched through the snow to the carriage.  As Severus followed Lucius into the carriage, Deucalion laid a hand on his shoulder. "Have a good year, Severus, and keep your objectives in context to the world around you."

Which left Severus feeling extremely confused.

The trip back to school was long, silent, and uneventful.  Severus busied himself staring out the window, trying to ignore the way Lucius kept glancing sideways at him in a disturbingly ponderous fashion.  It really was hard work, trying to ignore so many things at once; Lucius's stare, the blinding glint off of the snow, and the accelerating stiffness in his neck all vied for his attention.  He let himself sink into a stupor for most of the trip.  He fell asleep a couple of times, but each doze was very short-lived and punctuated by sinister dreams that Severus couldn't remember when he woke with a start.

They reached Hogwarts about the same time the train did, joining the throng of people who had returned from their holidays, milling their way into the Great Hall just in time for dinner.

***

The year passed by quickly.  

Severus was never quite the same after leaving the Malfoy Manor.  The feeling of unease, of uncertainty, never left his side.  It grew and cultured into what could almost be considered paranoia.  It was hard to comprehend, this feeling.  He was afraid of himself; he felt as though something dark and incomprehensible lurked inside of him, waiting for the moment when Severus would betray himself, lose control, and let the beast out to greet the world.  Something had unsettled him that night; a seed had been planted in him, and it grew with an uncontrollable vengeance.

He kept busy.  He made potions for Malfoy; he studied for his N.E.W.T.s.  He ignored Potter and Black as best he could, finding that even his most cutting remarks couldn't quell the anger that seethed inside of him.  The black beast in his gut seemed to be devouring all the satisfaction he could make for himself, so that nothing was enough.  He wanted more.  He wanted the ultimate upper hand over them, to catch them unawares and armed with…something…so that he could pounce.  

But he watched them.  And he waited.  He waited for that something that he hungered voraciously for.  He didn't know what it was, but at night he slipped into unnerving dreams filled with a whispering voice that told him all he needed to know.  Or rather, it seemed to converse only with the beast inside, telling it secrets that the outer Severus desperately craved to know.  He was terrified and enthralled at what those secrets might be.  The only hint he had was the words he woke up whispering to himself often in the dead of the night.

"_It's who you are._"

***

It was the last day before graduation.  The seventh years were raucous, refusing to go to class even though it was still Friday.  At the beginning of the day, the staff had tried to keep control of them, taking away points right and left, but eventually they just gave up.  

As a Slytherin prefect, Severus was supposed to be trying to keep his classmates orderly, but instead he found himself at the Hog's Head with Lucius, Crabbe, Goyle, Avery, Nott, Rookwood, and many other Slytherins who hung about with "Lucius's boys."  Quite a few of them were drunk.  Lucius, for one, was quite a nice person to be around when he was intoxicated, as he seemed to have an endless pocketbook and was buying everyone drinks like mad.

As Severus gulped down the last of his fifth or fifteenth butterbeers (he wasn't entirely sure which it was), Lucius swayed to his feet.  As Rosmerta walked by, he waved his arms about like a great chimpanzee, slurring, "Rooosie!  Over here, Severus needs another drink, I think.  Over here.  See?"  He pointed to Severus's empty bottle, as though perhaps Rosmerta couldn't understand him.  Which, owing to the amount of liquor he had in his system, hardly anyone could. 

"Are you sure you boys haven't had enough to drink?" said Rosmerta tetchily, raising her eyebrows.  For some reason, the lot of them found this very funny, and there was a great shout of laughter from the table.  Rosmerta winced at the loudness of it, plunking down a tray of butterbeers in resignation and clicking away as quickly as she could.

As Severus opened his sixth or sixteenth bottle, the pub's door opened, and in walked Potter, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew.  A hot spark erupted in Severus's veins, ignited by the alcohol that flowed freely through them.  He shouted across the pub full of students, "Well, look, if it isn't the faggoty four!  Take a break from your evening romp for a little pick-me-up, Potter?"

Potter's face turned an appropriate shade of red as the table around Severus erupted with laughter.  Severus saw Pettigrew cower behind Black as Lupin muttered something indistinct to Potter.  Potter shook his head at Lupin, pushing him away.

"James!" he heard Lupin's voice rise warningly as Potter approached their table, Black pinging after him as though they were connected by a rubber band.  This thought gave Severus a vivid mental image that amused him greatly, and he laughed as they stopped in front of him.

"What," Severus slurred, rolling his eyes at them. "Don't worry, I won't tell Evans about your smutty gay love affair, if that's what you're on about."  He took another swig.  "Besides, I'm sure she'd think it was charming.  Give you something in common, Potter.  You know, then both of you would have slept with the entirety of Gryffind—"

Severus's butterbeer went flying from his hand as Potter punched him, sending him stumbling back onto the table.  In his clumsiness, many drinks went shattering on the floor.  Severus pulled himself back up, shaking with fury, and lunged at Potter with all his might.

There was much drunken hooting and shouting as Severus and Potter hurled themselves as each other repeatedly.  A large crowd collected around them, blocking Rosmerta, who was shouting over the heads of the seventh years at them to stop.  They ignored her, throwing punch after punch.  Severus managed to break Potter's nose, though he cut his knuckles as Potter's specs shattered around his fist.  In rebuttal, Potter socked Severus three times in violent succession in the gut.

As they fought, a rescue effort seemed to have been organized by Black and Lupin.  Quite suddenly, in the midst of giving Potter a well-deserved knee in the groin, Severus felt someone grab him from behind.  Lupin's arms caught him in the chest, pulling him back from Potter, who seemed to be getting the same sort of treatment from Black.

Severus swung a fist at Lupin, but was so unbalanced and disoriented that he missed by at least a foot.  The effort made him fall, however, and that alone was enough to pry himself from Lupin's grasp.

"STOP IT!" Rosmerta shrieked, still working her way through the crowd of excited seventh years.

As Lupin lost his balance and fell backward into the table of Slytherins, Severus pulled himself to his feet.  He felt as though he was floating above himself, watching as something angry unleashed itself from within him.  The sound of the pub seemed to mute itself in his ears.  He watched almost with disinterest as his own arm plunged into his robes, procuring a wand from their depths.  He felt a faint tinge of déjà vu as his arm then pointed the wand at Potter and Black, who were struggling against each other.  He felt a grim sense of satisfaction, along with a thrill of terror, as he watched his lips form the word:  "_Crucio!_"

The beast had taken control at last.  He couldn't stop himself.  The curse shot over Black's shoulder and hit Potter dead in the center of his chest.  He instantly fell to the floor, flailing, kicking, and screaming in a voice several octaves above his normal one.  The tiny bit of Sane Severus that was left was locked away in a corner of his head.  This little bit of conscience pleaded with him to stop, but the pleadings remained unheard, and whatever madness Severus had unleashed upon himself continued to control his body.

Pain, pain, pain.  _It's who you are…!_

…_Just prod the knot, ha, ha…_ And the very voice echoing with those words in his brain now echoed in the outside world, screaming, "STUPEFY!"

Black.

***

"_Ennervate_."

Severus felt himself being pulled back to consciousness, but he didn't open his eyes.  Only bad things would happen if he opened his eyes, and he knew that.  He remembered quite clearly what he'd done in the Hog's Head.  He knew what he was in for.  Also, his head was pounding, and he didn't think opening his eyes would better the situation.

"Open your eyes, Mister Snape," said a voice sharply above him.  He kept his eyes closed, hoping the person would just go away.  Then he realized whom the voice belonged to. "Now!"

Severus groaned.  He forced his eyelids up.  His first impression was of a stunning wall of white, and he blinked painfully.  He was in the hospital wing.  Then a crooked nosed, white faced, bespectacled Albus Dumbledore materialized beside his bed, looking terrifyingly angry.

"Sit up," said Dumbledore harshly.  Severus groaned again, pushing himself up on his elbows. 

As he struggled into a sitting position, Dumbledore continued.  "Do not expect me to have _any_ sympathy whatsoever concerning your current state, Severus.  There are others in this wing who have suffered far, far worse pain than any hangover you could have so foolishly given yourself.  Whatever pain you think you feel now is well deserved and thrice over for what you have done today."

_Ah, so it's still today_, thought Severus sullenly.  _They haven't even let me rest twelve hours_, _then_.  He leaned back against the wall and looked around.  Through the window he could see that it was very dark out.  He continued staring out the window with a stony expression, waiting for Dumbledore to finish his tirade and get out.  Dumbledore remained silent, however, and when Severus finally chanced a glance at him he was stunned to find the old man sitting in the chair beside Severus's bed with his head in his hands.  He was breathing heavily through his nose, and for a moment Severus thought he was crying.  But when he lifted his blue eyes to Severus's black ones there was no trace of anything save cold anger.

Dumbledore opened his mouth as if to say something, then shook his head and shut it as if it were a hopeless effort.  Suddenly he stood up, pushing his chair back against the wall.  He paused for one agonizing moment, glaring at Severus, and then he pulled open the screens of the bed next to Severus's.

With a jolt Severus realized that it was Potter lying in that bed, unconscious.  He was pale as death, his lips pursed and white.  A film of dried blood caked his upper lip from his broken nose.  His hands gripped the sides of his mattress.  Every few seconds his body would twitch, and he would emit a faint whimpering sound.  Severus quickly looked away.

"No, I want you to look at him, Severus," snapped Dumbledore's voice.  "Look at him and understand the full debauchery you have committed!"

Severus pressed his lips together in an unintentional grimace, looking back at the bed.  How long had he held the Crutiatus curse on Potter?  It had only felt like half a second before Black stunned him.  Then another thought crossed his mind.  Where had he even _learned_ to use the Crutiatus curse like that?  A familiar feeling of responsibility rested itself in his gut.  _You did that,_ something inside his head told him.  _You lived for that!_

"I…" Severus muttered feebly.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "_You_.  What in God's name possessed you to do such a…" he couldn't find a word horrible enough to describe what Severus had done "…thing?!"

"I…" said Severus weakly again.  Dumbledore waited for him to continue.  "I…don't know…"

"Well, neither do I," said Dumbledore.  "I can't possibly tell you how disappointed in you I am, Severus."  It was amazing how he could make that simple word: "disappointed" hurt so much.

"I'm sorry," muttered Severus dully, although he was not entirely sure that statement was true.  After all, _Potter_ had thrown the first punch, hadn't he?  If he had just stayed away, none of it would have happened!

"As much as I would like to believe that, I'm afraid I know better," Dumbledore said softly, finally pulling the screens around Potter's bed closed.  "You have changed, Mister Snape.

"I thought that you would be different.  You _were_ different…up until this year.  Even then, I had hope for you.  But now…" He shook his head.  "I don't know what to say.  I cannot force you to see right and wrong, Mister Snape.  That is something you must discover for yourself.  But I can tell you this:  nobody is responsible for your actions but yourself.  You cannot hide behind the excuse of friends or of family.  In the end, the consequences will rest solely on you, and no one else."

Severus tried to keep his face as neutral as he could, and not let his growing frustration burn in his cheeks.

"You will be sent home promptly this evening.  Your bags have already been packed and loaded onto the Hogwarts Express.  You will not take part in the graduation ceremony tomorrow."  He pulled a certificate out of his robes, bearing the Hogwarts emblem behind the name "Severus Snape" in gold script.  This he thrust at Severus, who grudgingly took it from him. "I have just sent an owl to your father, but I daresay you shall arrive before it.  I am showing you some mercy, though I don't know why.  I could report you to the ministry for use of the Unforgivables…but I won't."  

Severus felt panic rise within him.  Dumbledore didn't know it, but sending that owl to Senan Snape was by far the worst punishment he could have given Severus.

"You will be at the train by midnight," said Dumbledore curtly, standing to leave.  He walked a few steps toward the door.  Then he hesitated, looking back at Severus with a hint of sadness in his eyes.  

"I had hoped you would be more like your mother," he said quietly.  

Severus felt a burst of hatred toward Dumbledore as he turned to go.  How dare he!  _How dare he!_

"My mother _loved_ me!" he burst out before he could stop himself.  He was horrified to hear his voice quiver slightly.  Dumbledore slowly turned around to face him again.

"I do not doubt that," he said tonelessly.  "But would she still?"

And he left Severus alone with that painful thought…and with the accusatory whimpers that echoed faintly throughout the hospital wing from the bed beside him.  

***

Severus had a whole, empty train ride home to brood.  It was strange, being on the normally packed Hogwarts Express without another soul on board.  He could choose whatever compartment he wanted.  The train barreled along, making hollow, rickety noises as it went.  He stared out the window and into the night.

He wouldn't be going through the graduation ceremony.  So what?  That was a privilege, really.  Since the only people who were allowed to attend the ceremony were seventh year students, it would be nothing but a contest of popularity.  Severus felt very glad indeed that he didn't have to sit through it.  

Really, he hadn't been punished at all.  He got to go home a day early on a blessedly empty train, miss the applause contest, _and_ he was spared facing Potter again before he left.  Well…facing him when he was _awake_, anyway.  Facing him unconscious had been unpleasant enough to deal with…

What _had_ possessed him to throw that curse at Potter?  Perhaps it had simply been the alcohol.  And yet, he shouldn't have been able to wield it so expertly…especially _because_ of the alcohol in his system.  Alcohol was supposed to dampen your power, or at least your control over it.  If he hadn't been drunk, would he have done it?

He tried not to think about that.  It was a stupid thing to do, he admitted to himself.  There were other ways of getting revenge on Potter.  _But none quite so satisfying…_

The thought popped into his head from nowhere.  Revenge?  _Revenge?_  Severus's conflicting emotions battled.  _Yes, revenge.  For saving my life…no, for saving HIS reputation…but he did save my life…_How was it that Severus could get into so much trouble for simply cursing Potter, and Potter and Black barely got into any trouble at all for nearly _killing_ Severus?  Well, Black had been suspended for a couple of weeks…but Potter?  Nothing.  And he had surely been in on it.

So…how did hurling the Crutiatus curse at Potter compensate for Potter's saving his life?  Severus strained to find the answer.  _He caused me pain by saving my life,_ he reasoned with himself.  _He made a fool of me._

_And if he hadn't done it?_  A nasty, contradicting voice in his head asked him.  _You would have been made a fool then, too.  Only a dead one instead of a living one_.

"Shut up!" Severus snapped aloud to himself.  No point thinking about it.  There was nothing for it.  What was done was done, and nothing could change it.  School was over, and he would never have to see Potter again.  He would go back home, and…

And what?  He tried to think what he was going to do with his life, but for some reason he couldn't think past the words that had initially formed to answer his question:  …_And get beaten to a bloody pulp by Daddy_, he mocked himself.  Then:  _Shit.  What am I going to do?_

By the end of the train ride, Severus had decided never, ever to be introspective again.  In his case, the results only ended up being painful.

It was three in the morning when he arrived at Platform 9 ¾.  He retrieved his bags from the luggage car.  Then he stood with them at his feet, staring with a glazed expression at the train.  Should he even go home at all?  He had nowhere else to go.

He sighed in resignation, and Disapparated.

***

Severus wasn't very practiced up in Apparation yet, and he arrived slightly off his mark.  He had meant to Apparate into his bedroom, but found himself in the foyer instead.  

"Damn," he said.  Then he magicked his bags into the air, and directed them in front of him as he made his way up to his chambers.  He was wary as he walked, hoping to God that his father was either asleep or not at home.  The Snape Manor was a very nerve-wracking place to be hiding from someone at night; especially with the indistinct shapes that were the gargoyles popping up unpredictably wherever he went.

When he reached his chamber door, he let his bags drop to the floor in the corridor.  He grabbed the doorknob and turned it without thinking…  He blinked, looking down at his hand.  _Locked?_  He twisted it again, slightly harder, in case the door was simply jammed.  No luck.

He pulled out his wand, wondering vaguely why his door would be locked, when Severus was the only one who was ever even in this part of the Manor anyway.  "Aloham—"

He stopped as he heard a noise from inside his room.  It was faint, but even faint noises traveled easily through the Snape Manor.  He tried to figure out what the noise was.  It had sounded almost like someone gasping…

He shook his head.  He was being paranoid.  It was the effect this place had on him.

But then he heard another noise, and this time he was sure it was real.  It was a masculine voice, a muffled mutter that was barely distinguishable.  Severus's eyes widened as he made out what it said…

"_Avada Kedavra,_" it whispered.

"Alohamora!" Severus spat to the doorknob in a panic, and burst into his room.

And he saw her again, for that second and final time in his life.

Dead.

He stumbled into his room right as those brown eyes lost their sight, and they locked on his in the fragment of an instant before they were shuttered from the world forever.  He heard the last of her breath escape her, exhaled like a soft sigh of relief.  She was lying twisted on the floor, her dark eyes still gazing up at him emptily.  Her long hair tangled around her face.  Her eyebrows were knitted, her lips just barely open in a look of startled realization.  Her left hand was limply on her chest.  Her right arm lay away from her body on the floor.

His mind took a vivid photograph of that.

He stared at her in shock.  No, it couldn't be.  How could it be Charity?  Why would it be Charity?  It wasn't Charity.  _It couldn't be Charity!_

He fell silently to his knees beside her body, forgetting to breath.  He gazed at her face.  It was Charity.  Oh, God, it was definitely Charity.  He reached out and brushed a stray hair from her cheek.

"_Why?_" he whispered.

"Because it was the only way," growled a voice behind him.  Severus felt an iron fist clench his chest.  He stood slowly and turned to face the speaker.

"You did this," Severus breathed in a low, gravely voice.

"Good analysis," responded Senan Snape sharply, taking a step toward his son.  "What the hell are you doing here?"

"You did this!"

"I heard you the first time," snapped Severus's father.  "And I believe I asked you a question."

Severus didn't even hear him.  His ears were ringing.

"_Why did you do this???_"

"Answer my question first, boy," snarled Senan.  "You weren't supposed to come home from school until tomorrow!"

"YOU KILLED HER!"

"God_damn_ you, you imbecilic boy!" Senan shouted, his arm swinging forward to strike Severus hard on the jaw.  "Show me the proper respect!  I have asked you a question!"

Severus swayed backward, feeling as though his jaw had shattered.  His right foot hit Charity's outstretched arm, and he tripped sideways onto the floor.  His father advanced upon him, kicking her body aside as if she were a rag doll.  Severus felt a rage like he had never felt in his entire life sear up through his veins.  He snarled, kicking his right foot out as hard as he could.  It caught his father in the stomach, and the man stumbled to his knees over Severus, doubled over.  

"Fighting back?" Senan wheezed with laughter.  "You've never fought back before…you were always too _weak_—"

"AURGH!"  Severus lunged forward, hitting his father upside his skull so hard that his fist ached.  Senan fell forward onto Severus, who threw him off and onto the floor beside him.

"Why? Why? Why?" Severus screamed, beating every part of his father that he could reach.  He felt like a little child again.  He just kept repeating it.  Why?

Why had Senan beaten them?  Why had he killed Severus's mother?  Why had he hated Severus?  Why couldn't he be a normal father?  Why had he killed Charity?  _Why did he have to destroy everything good in Severus's life?_

"Why?" Severus sobbed a final time, sitting back and putting his head in his hands.  He felt his sticky fingers smear against his face and into his hair, and he looked at them.  They were covered in blood.  They were _running_ with blood.  It slid in lazy tendrils toward his elbows; it dripped from his hair.

He jumped up, looking down at his father's mutilated face.  It was a horrible sight.  Blood pooled darkly around Senan.  Severus was literally sitting in a puddle of his father's blood.

There had been more than one death that night.  Both remaining members of the Snape family were murderers.  Severus began to breathe raggedly.  He was a murderer.  A murderer.  

Just like his father.

"No!" Severus gasped in realization.  Dumbledore's words ripped through his mind.  _I had hoped you would be more like your mother._

_She loved me!_

_Would she still?_

Suddenly a noise he hadn't noticed before intruded his thoughts.  It was a welcome intrusion, and he turned in shock to see where it came from.

There lying on the pillows of his bed was a squalling baby.

He stared bewilderedly at it for a moment.  Then he slowly sat down on his bed, his eyes wide, and picked it up.

The baby was a girl.  She had deep, liquid brown eyes and ebony hair.  She was pale-skinned.  Her tiny fists beat out at him as he held her.  Her eyes were squeezed shut, wispy eyebrows furrowed in exasperation. Severus cradled her in his arms, numb to her terrified screaming as blood soaked into her clothes from his.  Tiny droplets of scarlet slid down the congealed strings of hair hanging around his eyes, dropping off of the ends and onto her delicate face.  He then realized the depth of his father's sin.

For the first time in his life, everything was horribly, horribly clear.  He sat back against his pillows, pulling his knees up as close to him as he could get them, and holding the baby as tightly as he could between his arms and his chest.  Feeling like an infant himself, Severus cried with her.

***

Hours passed.  Severus didn't move from his room.  He didn't move at all.  The baby was asleep now, resting in his bloodstained arms, her minuscule fingers gripping the fabric of his sodden robes.  Her little body rose and fell with his chest.  He was leaning back against the head of his bed, his own head tipped back.  He stared emptily at the wall across from him, his eyes glazing over the cold bodies on the floor.  He had no idea what time it was, but he really didn't care.  It was always dark in his bedroom.  

  His mind was empty except for one useless, redundant thought.  Why?  Why any of it?  Why hadn't he realized what was wrong?  How could he have been so oblivious to all of this?  What could he have done to stop it?  If Charity had only told him what was wrong, none of this would have happened.  If she had only heeded his warning not to come to the Snape Manor that night which seemed years ago…

Useless.  That's what he was.  Pointless, helpless, useless…_weak_.

Too stupid to see what was right in front of him.

Too selfish to care.

Too hurt to control himself.

Too frightened to move.

He closed his eyes, wishing he could die right then and there.  Leave the world behind, and go somewhere far away where he would never have to see himself again.  Unfortunately, he figured the only place he would be going after death would be his own personal hell.  He imagined this as a place with the stereotypical fire, lots of mirrors, and accusing voices of his past whispering into his mind.

With one out of three, he was closer to hell than he had ever been.

In deep contemplation of this, he didn't hear the pop as two men Apparated into his bedroom.  Both men were clad in strangely reflective, hooded robes of black.  One of the men was masked, and the other wasn't.

"What have you done?"  A voice hissed at him.  Severus first thought this was just another of his delusional memories, but then a hand slid behind his head, grabbed his hair, and jerked his head forward.  His eyelids shot up in alarm, his black eyes flying to the masked man before him.  "_What have you done, boy?_"

Severus remained silent, staring defiantly up at the man.  He hoped his insolence would get him killed.

"Let him go, Deucalion," said a silkily stern voice from the shadows.  The second man stepped forward.  Severus felt a sword of terror bolt down his body as his eyes traced the barely distinguishable outlines of the face within the hood.  He recognized that voice, that face…

The masked man—Deucalion—roughly let Severus go, taking a step back.  His Master slowly approached the bed, stepping carelessly over the bodies on the floor.  As he got nearer, the face behind the hood came into sharper focus.  Its eyes widened as they surveyed the bundle in Severus's arms, reflecting the blood that covered him.

"What is this?" he breathed, reaching down and laying a thin white finger upon the baby's cheek.  She shivered in Severus's arms, and he instinctively tightened them about her.

"My sister," croaked Severus, only just realizing it himself.

The Dark Lord sucked in his breath violently, as if he had been struck in the chest.

"It cannot be," he hissed in disbelief.  "The child is Impure!  I feel its sullied blood pulse beneath its skin…Senan would not commit such treachery!"

Severus actually chortled sardonically at this.  The Dark Lord's eyes flashed angrily at him.

"Senan," Severus rasped, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "would do anything that got him what he wanted."

"Senan would not want this child," snapped the Dark Lord.

Severus looked down at the little girl.  "No," he agreed quietly.

Voldemort slowly looked down, his eyes sliding to Senan's disfigured body.  Then he looked at the girl crumpled beneath his feet.

"Snape," he said coldly, "you are in dangerous territory.  For the first time in six years, my most loyal follower has been absent for a gathering.  In seeking him, I find that he is dead at the hands of his own son, who claims to be holding a disgrace to his bloodline." He paused, curling his lip down at Charity. "And this," he said, nudging her with his booted toe.  Then he looked back up at Severus.  "You had best explain yourself."  He pulled out a wand and pointed it between Severus's eyes in one fluid movement.  "Before you dig yourself in deeper."

Severus took a deep breath, clenching his jaw and closing his eyes.  He wouldn't talk.  Only a few seconds of silence, and he would surely be done for.

The seconds lengthened.  Severus slowly dared to let his body relax, but when he finally opened his eyes again, he was blinded by a flash of light.  His body was on fire; burning, twisting, screaming, pleading, stabbing, stabbing, _stabbing_— It stopped abruptly, and Severus trembled all over.

The baby bawled angrily in his arms, which had convulsed around her so tightly that it was a miracle she hadn't suffocated.

"Explain," said Lord Voldemort again.  Severus shook for a moment, staring at the wand pointed at him.

"Not my fault!" tumbled from his lips unexpectedly.  "I didn't mean to!"

The wand didn't move.

"He killed her!" babbled Severus confusedly.  "I didn't kill her!"

"You killed your father," Voldemort reminded him harshly.

"I killed my father," Severus muttered to himself.  He didn't know what to make of that.

Impatient, Voldemort cast Crutiatus on Severus once more.  As the pain broke through his strength, Severus screamed out:  "_I HAD TO!_"

It stopped.

"Why?" hissed his father's Master.

Before he could stop himself, words began to spill from Severus.  He told them everything.  He watched the little girl shriek at him as he spoke in a monotone.  The Dark Lord watched him carefully, taking in not only his words, but his demeanor as well.  It was painfully easy to detect every weakness and vulnerability of the young man.  He would be easy to manipulate.

When Severus had lapsed into silence, he kept his eyes downcast.  He was fully expecting to be cursed again.  He only wished that this time Voldemort would use the curse of death instead of the curse of pain.

"Oh, _Severus_," he said in a façade of gentleness, his tone striking Severus as vaguely familiar.  Severus looked up nervously. 

"The world is a cruel place for one so lost as you."

Severus stared at him, narrowing his eyes in confusion.  Why was be being so compassionate?  Severus may not have known the Dark Lord, but he was familiar with his aforementioned qualities, and compassion was definitely not one of them.

"…Lost?"  He ventured after a moment of silence.

"Seduced by a traitor in disguise," said Voldemort, his voice smoothing over Severus like waves as he gestured down toward Charity.  "A temptress who hardly knew of her own untrustworthiness, I daresay.  She was foolish; she wanted the glory that a _mudblood_ could never have.  She coaxed you into friendship, dear boy, and used you as a link to the pureblood world she lusted after.  She seduced Senan as well, in a treacherously literal sense.  Don't you see?  She has borne the fruits of her deception, and she has brought them back to the site of her enticements.  It appears Senan had come to his senses too late…and you have yet to do so completely."

Severus looked down, letting the Dark Lord's words sink in.  He felt icy fingers curl around his chin, lifting his face to look into the face of their owner.  Irises of blood drew him into their circles of acceptance, calming him into rationality.  His shining black eyes soaked in the veil of comfort shining from red ones.  He was right, of course…

"She wove her enchantments on you well," sang that cool voice, "but I can help you unravel them."

"Help me," Severus gasped, pouring his soul into those words.  His eyes widened earnestly.  "Help me."

The Dark Lord's lips curved into a small smile, and he released Severus's face.  "I can help you," he said again.  "If you help me.

"A valuable soul has been lost to me tonight.  The heart of a true follower can never be replaced, but it can be compensated for.  The void which has been left can be filled with the soul of another, one whom I can teach the ways of righteousness.  The ways of redemption…One whom I can eventually mold into a purity so formidable that nothing can corrupt it.  Do you understand what I am saying?"

Severus thought for a moment.  "Yes…I think—"

"And do you also understand," said Voldemort, his voice growing sharper, "what you will face in the absence of such a redemption?  I will not need to worry my hands with your punishment; the unsuspecting world will do it for me."  He paused, looking levelly at Severus.  "There is a high price to pay for murder, boy, in any society.  And others will not be so benevolent."

"I understand," said Severus heavily.  The weight of responsibility on his shoulders seemed to age him in seconds.  He looked up.  "What do you want me to do?"

"Kneel, Severus," said Voldemort, taking a step back and opening his arms.  "I will show you."

Severus laid the baby down on his blood-encrusted pillows and knelt before the Dark Lord. 

"Raise your left arm."

He did so.  The Dark Lord pushed Severus's stiff sleeve down past his elbow, wrapping the fingers of his left hand around Severus's wrist.

"Severus Snape," he said so softly that Severus could barely hear him. "In the presence of a witness—" He nodded over his shoulder at Deucalion, who still lurked uncertainly behind him. "—I ask you to bind your loyalty to me.  I ask you to make my will your own, and to follow it with the utmost devotion.  I ask you to become part of a great allegiance; a brotherhood with a passion for the purity, dignity, and honor of a pureblooded, Arian race.  You will be my Servant, and I your Master.  You will serve my priorities only, placing them first and foremost above your own.  Will you, Severus Snape, bind your soul to this contract infinitely, only to break it with the price of your life?  Will you join me?"

A deep flame burned within the Dark Lord's eyes, and Severus stared into them, captivated.

"Yes," he breathed. "I will."

"Then accept this Mark of Darkness as a token of your bargain, to guide your steps to my side, and to remind you to whom your soul is bound."  Voldemort held out his right hand and blew gently into it.  Black flames engulfed the surface of his palm, tracing the shape a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth.  He gazed hungrily into it for a moment.  Then he suddenly yanked Severus's wrist up with his left hand, pressing that flaming palm against the soft skin of Severus's forearm.

Excruciating pain seared into his arm, and Severus cried out in agony.  He was blinded by white pain for an instant, and then Voldemort dropped his arm.  Severus crumpled to the floor, nearly unconscious.

He looked blearily at his forearm.  The design of the skull and snake was starkly tattooed there, still dull with pain.  A thin white light traced its outline faintly, before fading into his skin.

"Welcome," he heard the voice of his Master echo to him from above.  "Stand, Severus, and walk with me into the arms of your future."

Severus swayed drunkenly to his feet, vaguely noticing that all of the blood had gone from his clothes.  He was clean and dry.  Voldemort embraced him.  Then he stepped back, and Deucalion embraced him as his Witness.  When Deucalion drew back, Severus felt himself smile.

Accepted!

"A formal announcement will be made at our next official meeting.  I will Call you," said Voldemort curtly, and pulled out his wand to Disapparate.

"My Lord," said Severus quickly.  He hesitated, then gestured back to the bed.  "What of the child?"

Voldemort paused, his thin white face turned to the crying girl on Severus's bed.

"She is your responsibility now," he said finally.  "You will raise her in her father's place.  She is of impure blood, Severus, and an abomination to you.  She is part of the price you must pay for your sins."

Severus nodded his head, and when he looked up again, his Master and Witness had gone.

He picked up the child again, and walked from the room.  He locked the door behind him, and then performed a concealment spell, so that the door looked like any other length of bare, stone wall in the Snape Manor.

No one would ever go in there again.

He walked down to his father's rooms, directing his bags (which had been waiting for him outside his bedroom) along in front of him.  He would use Senan's rooms from now on.  He placed the baby on the pillows of Senan's former bed, staring at her.  Something deep within him told him what to name her.  She must have already had a name, but he would never know it.  He reasoned with himself on the outside that this name would only serve the purpose of reminding him what he'd done.  He denied the lurking reason inside.

"Charity," he whispered to her.

Then, riddled with exhaustion, he collapsed. 


	8. Life of a Phoenix

_Cold be hand and heart and bone,_

_And cold be sleep under stone:_

_Never more to wake on stony bed,_

_Never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead._

_In the black wind the stars shall die,_

_And still on gold here let them lie,_

_Till the dark lord lifts his hand_

_Over dead sea and withered land._

**_~The Fellowship of the Ring:  Fog on the Barrow Downs~_**

***

Five years had passed.  First of his friends to join, Severus watched for five years as, one by one, his friends stooped before the Dark Lord and accepted their new lives.  For five years Severus had made his way slowly through the ranks, always a step ahead of his friends, always given a wide berth by the other Death Eaters.  They suspected what they were forbidden to suggest of Severus.  The rumors of his past were hushed, denied, and evaded.  The others knew that these events of loss and gain had not simply occurred by chance, but they dared not question the judgment of their Master.  Still, they were not blind to the mercy that this foolish young man was being given.  Neither were they numb to it.  Members from the older generation distrusted Severus; they did not speak to him unnecessarily, and they watched with narrowed eyes as he rose to their stature in the Dark Lord's eyes.  Those of the second generation shrugged at their parents' cold shoulders and remained on friendly terms with Severus, although those terms seemed motivated by an ambition beneath the surface rather than fondness, and the warmth in their manners turned to cold envy behind his back, and behind their hands.

Severus smiled at their jealousy, and at their fear.  He smiled at the inked Mark on his inner forearm, which he had borne for five years, screaming prideful acceptance to him.  He held his head high, bore his torture with grace, and never begged.  He was quiet during their meetings, standing as a silent shadow in his place among them, a hint of a smile lurking beneath the flickering shadows of his hood.  He had everything.

At home, a little girl waited for him, asleep in her bed.  She did not mind the cold, dry air of the Snape Manor, just as she didn't mind her cold, dry brother Severus.  He had taken care of her just as he'd sworn to, though her presence proved less a punishment and more a privilege as time went on.  She accepted Severus as her caretaker without question, and he was infinitely grateful to her for that.  She never asked too many questions of Severus, aside from the occasional 'why did you leave last night?'  She didn't ask about her parents, and Severus didn't tell her, fighting a gnawing instinct that told him she deserved to know.

He just didn't want to deal with it. 

  She had been a smart baby; she watched everything around her, absorbing every sight and sound that passed her by.  He had given her the best care that a seventeen-year-old boy could; completely naïve at first, he had learned quickly what to expect in the responsibilities of surrogate fatherhood.  Diapers, sleepless nights, and feeding so often he began to wonder if it was customary for a child to eat that much, or if little Charity was some twisted transfiguration of a garbage disposal.  She taught him easily more than he felt he could ever teach her, even as quick to learn as she was.  He wondered what he should teach her, given the chance.  Some lessons did not come easily or painlessly, and he groped for an opportunity to teach them in just that way.  It tormented him when he could not.  Still, whether he was doing all he could for her or not, she had grown.  She had walked early, and spoken late.  

In fact, Severus had been beginning to worry she would never speak at all, until he had awoken one morning to find her tugging on his blankets and saying, quite plainly and calmly:  "I would like my breakfast now."  Which had caused him to gape open-mouthed at the three-year-old Charity, wondering if he was having a sleep-induced hallucination.  To which she had crossed her little arms impatiently, quirking her tiny red mouth in a scowl, and saying:  "What is wrong with you?"  He had laughed and swung her up into his arms, taking her down to the dining hall, and demanding that the elves give her whatever she wanted for breakfast.  Her face had lit up in a smile, and she had told Severus happily that she wanted his slippers for breakfast.

She was also a very stubborn child, for when Severus had asked her if maybe she'd rather have pancakes instead, she had considerately poured her milk onto his lap.  Luckily, one of the older elves of the Snape Manor, who had been something of a nanny to Severus in his early childhood, had chimed in to aid him.  She was cleverer than most house elves, and she had smiled knowingly at Severus, squeaking:  "Never you mind, Master Severus!  Never you mind Miss Charity.  Seraphine will get her breakfast slippers for her!"  Severus had been about to snap at Seraphine, when she winked and rushed off to the kitchen.  When she came back, she held a tray of what looked exactly like Severus's black slippers, drizzled with syrup.  Seraphine had used her own, house-elfish brand of transfiguration on some pancakes.  It wasn't all for the best, however, because from then on Charity demanded her slipper-pancakes every morning.

Now she was five years old and speaking fluently, with a vocabulary to rival any student at Hogwarts.  She seemed to enjoy Severus's wry humor, and she laughed often, tossing her ebony curls back and grinning so that all of her teeth showed; her pale cheeks would squeeze her big brown eyes into merry little slits in her oval face.  She said unexpected things at times, like most children that age, but she said them with an air of wisdom, no matter how ludicrous her statements might be.

She slept in a little room that was once one of Senan's lesser chambers.  It was just off to the side of the main bedroom, where Severus slept.  He wanted to keep her close by, as she sometimes woke in the night sobbing to herself.  This had started to happen when she was about four, and it became a weekly occurrence.  Severus would hear her scream, wake with a start, and stumble to her bed.  Then he would sit and hold her, shushing her and stroking her hair, until she fell asleep again.  Once, he had made the mistake of asking her what she dreamed about.

"Blood and cold hands on my face and blood!" she had stammered, curling herself into a tight little ball on Severus's lap.  He had gone pale, his arms going limp about her, his eyes widening unseeingly as she quietly mumbled herself to sleep:  "Blood…cold…screaming…" He had very nearly reconsidered killing himself that night, and he never asked her about it again.

  It was this event coupled with a familiar sear of pain in his left arm that woke Severus at two in the morning on what would later turn out to be a very stormy Thursday.  He shot out of bed too fast for himself, lurching in the direction of Charity's chamber out of habit.  He stumbled and leaned against the wall for half an instant, blinking as blood made its frantic way back up to his brain and the black spots disappeared from in front of his eyes.  Faint, expectant crying noises could be heard through the door that led into Charity's room, which was left cracked open at night.

Severus regained his composure and stood, starting toward the all too familiar sobs.  Then another swell of pain flared up on his arm, and he grabbed it convulsively, cursing the horrible timing of the universe.  Anxiously torn between two obligations, Severus grabbed his shimmering black cloak from a chair beside the door and threw it over his shoulders, and then he walked quickly into Charity's room.

He could just see the top of her curly black head, her brown eyes filled with tears and just peeping out above her blankets, which she held firmly over the rest of her face with tight little fists.  She was looking right at Severus, waiting for him to come over and comfort her.  Then her eyes flickered down to the dark material that looked like nothing but shifting shadows that he was swathed in, and she fell silent.

Severus walked over and knelt by her bed, smiling through another more urgent jolt of pain through his arm as he pulled down her blankets.

"You're leaving again," she said accusingly, pushing out her quivering bottom lip and wrenching her blankets away from him.

"Yes," sighed Severus quietly.

"I had a bad dream," she said in the same accusing tone, blinking a few silent tears down her cheeks.  "Stay!"

"I can't," said Severus quickly as the pain in his arm intensified still.  She started to cry again.  "Shh!  Shh!  I'll be back soon, I won't be gone long!"  He said, having no idea how long it would actually last.

"I don't want you to go!" she protested.  "I don't like you when you come back!  You act funny and you smell funny and I don't like it!"

"Well there's nothing I can do about it," snapped Severus, suddenly angry, although he wasn't sure why.  He took a deep breath and softened his voice.  "I'll be back soon," he said again over her sobs.  He stood up and tried to reach down and touch her hair, but she threw the covers over her head again and sobbed louder.

He clenched his jaw in frustration as more pain hit him.  Curse it all!  He had hesitated to comfort her, he would most likely be punished for it in the end, and she wouldn't even look at him.  He tried to reason with himself as he stormed back into his own bedroom.  She was just a child; children did this; she couldn't understand… Unfortunately, Severus wasn't an easy person to be reasoned with, not even by himself, and he Apparated late, missing his place in the circle by several feet in his foul mood.

It was a special kind of Apparation; he could only picture the circle and his place in it, but he had to allow the power of the Mark to draw him to the right location.  Often, Death Eaters could go through a meeting and leave it never quite knowing where they had been.  This was, of course, intended.  If by some bitter twist of fate a Death Eater was caught by an Auror and questioned with Veritaserum, he could say in all honesty that he didn't know where he'd been the night before.  There were ways of twisting truth even through a potion so powerful as Veritaserum; no one can be entirely forced to tell the whole truth.  It is always the teller's choice, in the end, just how much to reveal.

Now, as Severus fell with an unusual lack of grace onto none other than Deucalion himself, he registered that the meeting was being held outdoors somewhere.  The space between Death Eaters was slightly larger than usual owing to the allotted space.  Deucalion hastily shoved him into the center of the circle, as if Severus himself was too hot to touch.  He stumbled forward onto his knees and pressed his lips to the hem of the cloak that trailed the ground before him, and then scrambled to his feet.  He paused for a moment, slightly disoriented, as he searched for his place among them.  He was confronted before he had the chance to slip in.

"You are late."

Severus cringed inwardly at the slight malice in the Dark Lord's tone.

"Yes," he said apprehensively, turning to face his Master.  "I apologize, Lord.  I was—detained."

He was deliberately vague, not wishing to discuss the trials and tribulation of childcare with an impatient Master and thirty Death Eaters.  Most would have feared to test the Dark Lord with such elusiveness, but Severus did not worry too much for his reaction.  Vagueness was, after all, his trademark, and the Dark Lord seemed to respect him for it.  Or at least, expected it of him and wasn't infuriated by it.  Most of the time.

"And your…detainment…is so important that it hinders you from responding promptly to my Call?"  Said Voldemort in honeyed tones, his lips twisted in a grim smile.  "Tsk, tsk, Severus.  Perhaps I should help you sort your priorities properly, hmm?  Remind you of your more important responsibilities?"

Severus bowed his head and said nothing.  He stared at the glossy grass beneath his feet, barely perceivable through the thick black night.  He would not beg, and his punishment would surely be less for it.  Suddenly a harsh, short laugh drove him to look back up.

"You await punishment as a guilty child awaits chastisement!  I see that you recognize your err, Severus.  Good.  Consider yourself lucky tonight, as I have not the time nor patience to deal with such meager grievances.  We have more pressing matters to attend to.  Take your place in the circle, and waste no more of my time."

Nothing was said as Severus gratefully accepted the Dark Lord's mercy and moved to stand quietly between Deucalion and Lucius, but Severus could feel a rising hostility toward him as several pairs of older Death Eater's eyes flickered to him.  None of _them_ would have received such a courtesy.

Voldemort paced slowly round the inside of the circle, peering directly into every Death Eater's hood as he did so.  A slow, intimidated shiver passed from Servant to Servant through the circle alongside him.  It was his menacing form of greeting.  When he had finished, he smiled to himself and walked back to the center of the circle.

"My friends," he rasped softly, opening his arms to them.  "Followers.  Brethren.  Here you are again.

"You have responded faithfully and promptly—most of you—" His red eyes flared in Severus's direction, full of disdain, for an instant before he continued.  "To my Call, as you have each done since your Dark baptism.  I have guided you, taught you graciously, punished you when necessary, and molded you all into worthy members of this society since then.  Many of you may think that you have seen the greatest, most terrible acts of our kind performed in the past ten years, and feel honored and proud that you had a hand in them."  He smiled wryly again, his lips twisting sardonically.  Many of the older Death Eaters had stood up straighter at his mention, raising their hooded faces proudly, and flickers of light illuminating the self-satisfied expressions within them.  

Their hopes of recognition and honor were soon dashed, however.

"Do not delude yourselves."  He let a sullen silence capture the next couple of moments.  "As of yet, your hand in my work has been small, almost meaningless.  You have yet to service me truly, and such service will prove a test of your loyalty and endurance that perhaps you have not taken into account.  Our exertions so far have been merely preparations for the future.  My future.  Our future.  The wizarding world's future.  But now, my friends, the hour is upon us.  We have the Ministry obliviously under our sway, with infiltration to any inside information we could desire to know.  They are fools, the lot of them, and they do not realize the depth of their own deception.  Persuasion of Azkaban's guard is currently underway, and as soon as everything falls into place, we shall have the Ministry's captives once more at our side, as well as an alliance with the power of the Dementors.  Our conquest is complete in all aspects, complete and yet still hidden.  None in the wizarding world fully understand their insecurity.  We shall use this to our advantage.  The time is come, and yet still I am thwarted—detained, as Severus Snape might so eloquently put it.  You all know of what I speak:  Hogwarts.  The school is still a haven to the imprudent followers of Albus Dumbledore.  It is as of yet impenetrable to me.  Alas, I have spent my energy in a futile search, seeking a way to invade Hogwarts.  No way comes without its risks:  of failure, discovery, death… And yet how am I to overcome the lock without the key?  The key, my brethren…"  Voldemort stopped here, allowing a dramatic, tense pause as the circle held its breath.  He began to circle again, eyeing them beneath their hoods, measuring them.  "The key," he said in a soft, alluring voice "is one of you."

He continued circling as a soft mutter echoed through his followers.  He reached Lucius, narrowing his eyes at the straight-nosed, glinting-eyed silhouette behind the hood, before taking another step.  His eyes fell on Severus's shadowed face:  curved nose, thin lips, dark eyes framed by tilted black eyebrows, all features set in an impassive expression.  The Dark Lord's stare lingered on this Death Eater, who stared levelly back into his red eyes.  If any emotion at all, were it fear, anticipation, or excitement lurked within the lean, straight-backed form of Severus Snape, none present could discern it.  Not even Lord Voldemort himself. 

"'Detained,' you said," said the Dark Lord in a whisper near the level of inarticulateness.  Severus felt a shiver beckoning his spine, but he banished it.  He sensed that Voldemort was speaking more to himself than to his follower.  "'Detained' from responding to your Master, from whom you have no right to be held back.  Premeditated ambiguity, with enough taste to earn you a painless evening.  You cannot deceive me, who knows you better than you could comprehend.  But what of another, whose empathy often serves to drive him blind?"

Though he kept his face unreadable, Severus blanched, thankful for the shadows and natural paleness that helped to disguise it.  _He couldn't mean…_

"Severus Snape," Voldemort said in a commentating voice.  He stepped back from Severus, back into the center of the circle.  "Step forward."

Reluctantly, Severus broke the circle and strode forward, amidst the distrustful whisperings of his colleagues.  The pale moonlight briefly broke through the heavy blackness of the clouds overhead for a moment, unfettering a silver luminosity, which doused the edges of Severus's gleaming cloak and crept within his hood, striking his black eyes unmercifully and making him blink.

"You have had little opportunity to appease my whims, Snape, since you were accepted into my fellowship.  You have been of little use to me, and yet I kept you, and looked after you for this long, because I knew that someday I would use you well.  I once told you that a loss could be compensated for, if not wholly replaced."  There was yet another murmur within the ranks, though of suspicion this time.  Straight words of accusation were not spoken aloud.  Voldemort leaned forward, speaking softly, treacherously, as he stated his next few sentences.  "I have taken you under my protection, but you have yet to earn your redemption.  Recall that I also once told you of your fate sans this redemption.  I now give you a chance to purchase it…. what would you say?"

Severus stared numbly for a moment, the shifting moonlight pouring over him and hiding his minute trembling.  The faint, hoarse whispering of those surrounding him tickled the edges of his consciousness, distracting proper thought.  He knew, he knew what he was being asked.  He knew, but did not want to accept it, or understand it, and so he feigned ignorance with a soft voice.  "What do you ask of me?"

Lord Voldemort's eyes flared glowing scarlet with intimidation, and he spoke even softer, so that even the Death Eaters lurking behind, straining to hear his words could not.  "I told you, boy, that you had a harsh compensation to pay.  Did you expect my mercy as a free compliment?  Every moment you spend under my care must be recompensed.  You have five years and a lost life on your neck.  Will you turn away seeking the easier road?  Let me tell you now, and you would be wise to accept my advice:  you will not find it.  You have knives at your back with every turn you make, Severus, and they will only twist in deeper if you try to fight them.  I offer to arm you and guard you, which is far more than you deserve.  I offer this in turn for your oath to me, which you have sworn to fulfill all your days.  Turn away now, and you will have worse than knives upon your unprotected hide."

His face was now inches from Severus's, just outside the edges of his deep hood.  They stared each into the other's eyes for a moment, one pair of a predator, one of the prey.  Then the moment passed, and Voldemort drew back smiling.

"Yes," tumbled from Severus's mouth before he could reconsider.  "I will do as you say."

"Good man," said Voldemort, his voice slick with triumph.  "You act wisely.

"I will Call you all again on Sunday evening," continued Voldemort briskly.  "In that time, Severus, you will contact Albus Dumbledore—Conveniently enough for you, there is a position as Potions Master available at Hogwarts.  You will persuade the Headmaster that you are competent for the job, which you most certainly are.  Dumbledore has had a hard time in the past filling that position.  He will be hard pressed.  You _will_ get the position, Severus.  It is crucial, and failure on your part will not bode well for you.  You will then report back to me on Sunday evening for further instruction.

"As for the rest of you, each will have his own role to play in this game before all is completed.  I will speak with each of you individually.  Severus," he turned back to face Severus, who stood still awkwardly within the circle.  "You have been dealt the most imperative task of all.  Plan well and cleverly, and _do not disappoint me_."  The trademark cynical smile was back.  "I dismiss you early, for you have been contended with.  I suggest you return to your nursery and deal with your 'detainment'."

Severus said nothing, bowing low, though a flicker of indignity sparked within him as the Death Eaters around them chortled.

"I thank you, My Lord," he said, and Disapparated.

He Apparated, stumbling slightly, into his bedroom.  He threw off his cloak, and it fell artistically as a drapery of shining shadows across the armchair by Charity's bedroom door.  He untied his boots, pulling them off and tossing them on the chair along with his cloak.

"Eurgh," Severus said, with veal, as he plopped down on the edge of his bed.  He sighed, leaning forward so that the heels of hands met his tired eyes.  He was just contemplating how in the name of Circe he always found himself in binds like this when his mattress shifted.  Partially lifting his head, he peered listlessly through his fingers to see an angry, shadowy face positioned above two pale arms crossed sternly over the chest of a little girl clad in one of his own discarded nightshirts.  She sat on the opposite corner of his bed, her voluminous sleeves drooping over the intersection of her arms, her legs also crossed, right foot swinging irritably.

"It's three in the morning," he stated in a useless croak.  She regarded him somberly for a moment.

"Sound funny too," she concluded.  He glared at her, before allowing himself to fall backwards onto his bed.  He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustrated thought, resting his left arm across his stomach.  How the hell was he going to pull this off?  A spy; he could do that.  Just a simple matter of convincing Albus Dumbledore, a man Severus had hoped never to meet again, and also the very person who had every reason _not_ to trust him, that he was the perfect man for the position of Potions Master.  That it suited his personality enough to disregard the fact that his merely existing under the name Snape supplied him with a salary higher than eighty years of teaching could.  That he was, perhaps, seeking refreshment from the solitude of his manor, so that he would be surrounded by students and teachers to socialize with, and spread his gift of potion making to the wizarding children of Great Britain.

_Ha_.

Even the likes of Sirius Black would see through that in an instant.  Such an approach was no use… Dumbledore was easily as clever as Voldemort himself.  But there had to be something…his Master wouldn't have suggested unless… what had he said?  '_You cannot deceive me, who knows you better than you could comprehend.  But what of another, whose empathy often serves to drive him blind?_'          

 Empathy…?  No, not empathy.  Empathy certainly wasn't—

Oomph.

His thoughts were disrupted as his left arm was lifted, and something very heavy and warm fell across him, burrowing against him.  His eyes flew open as the wind was knocked from him, and he lifted his head uncomfortably, letting his arm hang suspended in the air for a moment after she let it go.

"Charity…" he groaned in exasperation.

"Mmh emooph nngh!" She whined into his chest.

Despite himself, he felt a small smile creeping across his face.

"So I'm allowed to touch you again?"  He asked wryly.

 She said nothing, curling comfortably on top of him and sighing.  He echoed her sigh, gathering her up in his arms and pushing himself back against the pillows of his bed.  He awkwardly and slowly tugged the blankets out from under his legs and up over both of them, settling in the most comfortable position he could with knobby little girl knees poking him in the side.  As soon as this was accomplished, Charity tipped her face up, resting her chin on his chest, and probing him with her large eyes.

"In the morning," she mumbled sleepily.  Severus allowed one corner of his mouth to tug upward, before she buried her face in his shirt again.  The other corner followed.  Though he hadn't the faintest idea what she had meant by that, Severus had to agree with her in his own contexts.  _In the morning_, he thought, resting his hand upon the curly black head.  His fingers stretched far enough almost to cover it, and he let her soft curls twine themselves naturally around them.  He closed his eyes, relaxing into the rhythm of Charity's deepening breaths, until he matched it with his own.

***

_Tick… tick… tick… tick_…

A rosy light filled the room, blushing against the paler surfaces and causing the dark wooden desk's edges to shine with a deep radiance.  Shadows lingered beneath the glow, slowly but surely curling their fingers around the subdued light to announce dusk.  The room was achingly silent, with only the soft and deafening tick-tocking of the clock on the wall to relieve the solitude.  No breeze entered through the half-open window.

The cage in the corner glinted ambiguously, and within it sat a fiery bird.  Two shining eyes stared out between the bars, assessing the situation.  Had it been human, the bird would have sighed.  It was silent and still, watching his master, his comrade, suffer in his own thoughts.

The old man removed his spectacles, setting them down on the desk before him, which was overflowing with a whopping two job applications.  He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, sighing dismally.  The last of the day's rays glimmered briefly in nostalgia of its noontime glory on his dormant, golden spectacles, before winking out and skulking back into the dark corners of the room.  He did not see it, choosing instead to focus on the throbbing of his temples against the nagging obligations lying before him.

"No experience, no references, no qualifications," he muttered to himself.  "Useless."

He cursed his own role in encouraging Jason Duvall to retire last term, assuring the man that they would 'have no problem filling the position, surely.'

 Twelve years ago, that would have been the case.  Back when a job at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was considered great and honorable, and hard to come by.  Back when teachers at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry weren't entailed to work under the tense and wary atmosphere of being under constant threat.  Back when the children were safe, the school a haven, and not a single soul doubted that it was the best place to be in times of chaos.  No more.

The decrease of student population at Hogwarts had been accelerating rapidly over the past few years.  Families were moving into safer territory, sending their children to Beauxbatons…even Durmstrang was being considered a safe alternative to Hogwarts.  It all depended what side of the spectrum the parents looked from.  Parents who moved to Beauxbatons wanted their children to continue schooling in a carefree atmosphere, oblivious to the terror and destruction that was sweeping over Britain.  He couldn't blame them, of course, but he wished he could make them see; make them _understand_.  Beauxbatons…France…would be safe for a time.  But a time only.  Britain was the stronghold; Britain was the foremost and biggest hurdle to the Dark Lord; it was the locked door behind which lay a clear path to steady conquest of the wizarding world.

And the parents who sent their children to Durmstrang…  They were the people behind the masks.  Getting their children out of the way, out of the danger that they themselves thrust upon Britain.  They wanted their children trained for the day they could join their parents in the struggle for domination.  They wanted to twist innocent minds, nurture the seed of dark ambition within every child's heart, to cultivate corruption in the very souls of their own flesh and blood.  The thought made him sick, and angry.  In his younger years, he had been told that he was condemnatory, but he now disregarded that thought.  He was experienced.  He had seen the horrors that lost souls could commit, and he had no doubt that redemption was beyond them.  The fire of Hell burned in their eyes, and there it would fester until the body was nothing but a temple to the black ruins of the heart within.

Albus Dumbledore very rarely allowed himself to hate, but in this, this travesty of humanity, he would let his odium rest.

A sharp note rent the air, and Albus snapped from his deep contemplations.  Fawkes rustled his bejeweled feathers in agitation, unable to bear the palpable frustration hovering in the room.  Albus did not smile.

"My friend, my friend," he lamented, standing to reach a long finger within the cage and stroke the majestic bird's beak.  "It is ineffectual to moan and weep and wish for better times," he said sadly, as the bird closed its eyes luxuriously and nuzzled against his finger. "Though sometimes I wish I was blessed with such a part to play in all of this, and to let others take the responsibility."  He withdrew his finger from the cage, sighing.  "I am so very tired."

"Prof…Albus?"

He did not turn around, and he actually almost smiled, as he recognized the voice that spoke his name.  The voice hadn't changed since the man's school days…well, physically, of course, it had…. but it still held the same note of innocence, of rambunctious mischief.  He yearned to turn around and see the light of youth in his brown eyes, but he knew that that youth was slipping away all too quickly.

When he did turn around, he found the eyes that stared back at him filled with concern.  The man stood unsurely, his center of gravity shifted somewhere to the side, one hand in his pocket and the other running through the dark, boisterous hair atop his head.  Beneath the glasses a lilting half-smile greeted him.

"Very good," said Albus distantly.  "You have learned the art of using my first name, however haltingly.  You are welcome to it, James."

"I'm sorry to bother you," said James, moving his hand from his head to his remaining pocket and slumping a little more.  "Poppy—"

"Sent you up here to make sure I hadn't fainted or gone mad?  Well, as you can see, I am fully conscious, so you needn't worry."

James hesitated, licking his lips.  "And the second?" he inquired softly.  "A—Albus.  I know you're under a lot of stress, I understand why, with all of this…mess…but you can't just lock yourself away in here.  Term starts in only a couple of weeks, and we need you to—"

The young man's courage, which usually heartened Albus in this hour of grief, suddenly annoyed him.

"Need me to what, James?  To act as if everything should be running as usual?  To make polite conversation with the staff about decorations and curriculums, while out in the world is a stifling apprehension of the strike we know will come?  To feign cheerfulness and plan to teach the children simple charms and…potions," he spat out that word, glancing darkly at the resumes on his desk.  "What if there aren't any children this year?  We await the destruction of this refuge, this _asylum_, with baited breath, but _can't you see it happening before your eyes?_  The dreams of our future fall to pieces around us as we militarize ourselves against attack.  What use is a haven when there is no one left for it to protect?"

James stared at him, his brown eyes wide with a struggle between confusion, fear, and anger.  Albus could read the boy's thoughts as if they were written across his forehead.  _He's gone mad._  Somewhere beneath his frustration, Albus felt a twinge of pity for James.  He took a deep breath.

_This isn't your place_, he told himself.  _They need you to offer comfort, resilience, stability.  Not anger and hopelessness—they have quite enough of that without your help._  He forced himself to smile, and to interject as James started to argue back, trying to squirm into a role that didn't suit him.

"You aren't yourself, Albus!  You _can't—_"

"No, my boy, I can't.  I apologize for my outburst.  Perhaps you're right.  Best to keep on as usual, to give all we have to the students we have left."

James' expression softened, and he visibly relaxed.  Albus sighed, watching his former student.  As time went on, James would have to learn to be less transparent.  It would take away the last of his youth, and it pained Albus to take such a gift from him.  He hadn't addressed it yet, and he chose not to address it now.

 "Have you eaten?" Albus asked James after a moment of awkward silence.

"No, not yet," James responded, looking hopeful.

"Neither have I.  In quite some time, actually.  Why don't we head down to the Great Hall for dinner?"

***

Fawkes the Phoenix watched as the two men left the room; one he loved, and one he pitied.  Fawkes was a bird of wisdom, and had foreshadowing knowledge that humans would do well not to posses.  He sensed events of great magnitude ahead.

A few moments later, a cool breeze ruffled his feathers from behind, the first movement of the stagnant air through the window all day as of yet.  He turned his beady eye, always watchful, and observed as a black owl swooped in, past his cage, and dropped a letter bearing a wax seal upon Albus Dumbledore's desk.  Then the owl swooped out again, not halting once in its smooth movement; dipping down to drop its burden, and looping back up.  It screeched at Fawkes as it departed.

Fawkes the Phoenix sensed events of great magnitude ahead, as he watched the letter sitting upon his master's desk.  Had he been human, he would have destroyed the letter, or warned someone about it.  But he was a phoenix, a bird, a watcher.  He wished to aid his master, but he resigned himself to waiting and watching impassively as his ages passed him by.  

For such is the life of a phoenix.


	9. Insecure, Pitiful

From the Oratorio, 'The Captivity,' by Oliver Goldsmith: 

"O memory!  Thou fond deceiver,

Still importunate and vain,

To former joys recurring ever,

And turning all the past to pain.

Thou, like the world, the oppress'd oppressing,

Thy smiles increase the wretch's woe;

And he who wants each other blessing,

In thee must ever find a foe."

To Headmaster Albus Dumbledore of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry:

_Dear Headmaster,_

It has come to my attention that you are having trouble in seeking an individual suitably qualified to fill the position of Hogwarts' Potions Master.  I realize that we have not spoken in several years, and that our last meeting was less than pleasant, but I would offer my service to you in hopes that I could make amends for my irresponsible behavior five years ago.

_Unfortunately, I do not posses a plethora of references and recommendations from past employers, due to my lack of previous occupation.  Be assured that I have not been unemployed these past five years because I am under-qualified, but because I was made solely responsible for the well being of my father's youngest child, born shortly before his passage.  I have undertaken this responsibility seriously, and the past five years of my life have been donated mostly to surrogate fatherhood.  You may, however, still be in possession of my file from the time that I was a student at Hogwarts.  If you look over it I daresay you will see that I am quite capable of filling your position, and I am sure that the previous Professor Duvall would provide testimony in regards to my competence as well._

_I hope that you will consider my offer to you, as it seems that there are very few people willing to respond to this job opportunity._

_Sincerely,_

_Severus Snape_

Quite vague, he thought.  Vague enough?  Convincing enough?  Not fishing for pity, of course, but with a tinge of that hopeless pride that…encouraged it.  He hated pity; it nauseated him, but it was his only handle now.  He had only slipped in enough humility as he had thought was absolutely necessary, but if it proved enough he would find out soon.  He had a feeling that securing himself a job with Albus Dumbledore would require much further correspondence than the arguments of one letter.

***

            By the end of dinner everything seemed to be almost back to normal.  Dumbledore—Albus was behaving the way he used to:  joking and laughing and eating…much to the relief of other members of the staff.  He had been penned up inside his office for a week, pining for resumes, and apparently reflecting on the dire state of the wizarding world of the present.

            Inside, James was still shaking from the memory of Albus' alarming monologue.  He suspected that he would never stop shaking; that small jerk of the rug of consistency beneath his feet was enough to send him sprawling on his back.  Albus:  strong, stable, calm, fearless Albus had slipped out of his famous characteristics for a moment, and that was enough to make James worry.

            He didn't forget it, even as he walked with a chuckling Albus back up the spiral staircase to his office.

            "…but when she tried to get into the hospital wing," Albus was chortling as he twisted the knob to his office door, "the students had locked it!  Little did she know there was a group of seventh years watching from behind the staircase…and you know poor Poppy, she had an absolute _conniption_.  There she stood, with an unconscious child in her arms, and she couldn't get in; started shouting passwords at the doors, thinking I'd locked them…and all of a sudden—_poof!_  Said unconscious child bursts into a shower of confetti.  She was furious with them all, and of course she came complaining to me…well, I couldn't help but chuckle a bit, and she wouldn't speak to me for days…"

He had quietly closed the door behind James, gestured for him to sit down, and shuffled some papers on his desk before trailing off quite suddenly.  The careless expression he had worn was weathered away into one of perplexity as his long fingers turned over a thin ivory envelope bearing an oddly intricate wax seal.

"Another resume?" James asked cautiously as Albus broke the seal and unfolded the sheer parchment within.  He said nothing as his eyes scanned the letter.  Light shining through the thin parchment revealed to James that the writer's script was sharp and scrawling.  His eyes moved from the letter to Albus' face, to catch his nonverbal response to the content of it…and found Albus' sharp blue eyes boring right back into his own.  The old man's eyes flicked back down to the letter and scanned the last few lines of it before he slowly set it down.

Thinking, perhaps, that Albus had not heard him, James tried again:  "Anoth—"

"Yes, a resume," said Albus in an oddly guarded tone, and he lowered himself into his seat.  James watched him with increasing unease as his fingers met at the tips and those eyes regarded him analytically above them.  "Despite it's lack of content, I believe it's the best resume I've received as of yet."

"Ah," said James blandly, unsure whether Albus' statement was intended to be sarcastic or genuine.

He was soberly surveyed for several long moments.  Once again, Albus Dumbledore's swiftly changing moods had befuddled James.  Now, as those crystal blue eyes drilled into his skull, James felt almost as though he were being sized up or measured—something that made him endlessly restless and edgy.  The end of this awkward period found him shifting uncomfortably in his seat and averting his eyes.  Albus' expression now turned from perplexity to an inexplicably deep-seated concern.

"James."

_Finally_ the awkward silence was broken!  He almost sighed aloud in relief.  "Er…yes?"

"Are you aware that right now I can see exactly how uncomfortable you are?  I can predict exactly what you are thinking, and what your plan of action would be in the near future."

"Er…" James stated uselessly.  His hand reached back to scratch the back of his head as a tacit, body-language filler.  He hadn't intended to say anything; he just felt it was his turn to make some sort of vocal retort.  "I see…"

"I can also predict exactly what your responses will be, even before I provoke them."

Now he was beginning to feel annoyed.  He couldn't quite pick out what he had done this evening to aggravate Albus, or what had set him off so suddenly.  He licked his lips, which were suddenly very dry, blinked a few times, and was about to ask Albus just what he was on about when—

"I mean to say, is this how you would conduct yourself around someone you trusted less?"

"I conduct myself the same no matter whose presence I'm in," James responded instantly and stubbornly.  It was his code of honor; something his father had taught him since he was very small:  handle one person the way you would handle all people; behave the same way inside the home and outside the home; treat _everyone_ equally.  He felt he had answered this question very competently, but as Albus sighed slightly, James felt he might have missed the point.

"Even in the presence of someone you weren't entirely sure you could trust?  What about someone like, say…like Severus Snape?"

There was a ringing silence, during which James was forced to allow that long and purposely forgotten name to act as a knife, reopening scarred memories.  It took a few blinks to resurface into the real world; it took a few quick breaths to remember that he had stopped screaming five years ago. 

"Excuse me?" he croaked.

Albus' tone did not alter in the slightest.  It remained smooth and cutting as he repeated himself.  "I said: would you behave in the same way in the presence of Severus Snape as you would in mine?"

How could Albus ask him this?  The room had suddenly grown stuffy and claustrophobic, and James tugged slightly at his collar.  "What—"

"Answer the question, James."

"I don't…why…" his eyes roved down to the letter laying between Albus' propped elbows, searching frantically for a distraction or an easy change of subject… but a horrible wave of dread crashed down over him as he read quite clearly (though upside-down) the signature:  _Severus Snape_.

The last button on his straightjacket of self-control popped.  All of it--the memories, the sudden claustrophobia of the room, the maddening alliteration of a name he had hoped never to stumble across again—it all exploded in his face.

"_No way_," James burst out, standing up violently enough to skid his heavy, high-backed chair a few feet away from him.  "You've got to be kidding me!  You're not hiring—"

"I never said I was hiring anyone, James."

"But that letter—"

"--But now that you've brought it to my attention, I think this might be a good experience for you:  working with an enemy."

James was thunderstruck, panicked.  "A…a good experience?  A _good_ experience?  This is the kid who got sent home from Hogwarts a day early because he _tortured_ me, remember?  How in the name of Circe—"

Albus held up a hand and cited from the letter quite calmly:  "'_I would offer my service to you in hopes that I could make amends for my irresponsible behavior five years ago.'"_

James laughed out loud:  an uncharacteristically high-pitched, nervous cackle.  "Oh please, do you honestly believe that?  This is _Snape_ we're talking about!  You think he wouldn't _lie_ to you?  I mean, come on, he's done it before, hasn't he?"

"Actually, no," said Albus, fingering his beard thoughtfully.  "He has never flatly lied to me before.  As far as I know, he has no idea that you teach here at the school.  And you're right:  this _is_ Snape we're talking about.  Why would he go to all the trouble of lying about such a thing for a job _here_?  James, he obviously has reasons of his own, and his presence would serve to keep you from feeling all too comfortable with your surroundings."

"Exactly!" James exclaimed angrily.

"Exactly," said Albus grimly.

James stared in horror as Albus' reasoning began to unfold.

"In times like these, James, we can't be too careful.  I've let it culture in your personality for far too long, but you _must not_ go on with life so carelessly; so _predictably_.  As much as you may hate to hear it, this would be good for you."

"But Albus," James pleaded frantically.  "It's just like you said:  we _can't be too careful!_  I don't know about you, but I've never considered Snape to be an altogether trustworthy person."

"I trust him no more than you, my boy, but I know him better.  He is an insecure, pitiful human being, and there is only one of him.  Under my eye, what damage do you think he could do?"

James rambled on, scrabbling for a handle.  "He was always friends with Malfoy and his boys, and they're _all_ Death Eaters by now…"

"There is only one of him," Albus repeated firmly.  "And being insecure and clever at the same time, he would know better than to act irrationally.  As for the rest of them, nothing else will change.  No one I deem a threat will be allowed near this school.  Trust me, James.  Snape will do us no harm.  No matter whom he serves, _his first priority is himself._"

There was a long, heavy pause.  James stared defiantly at his former headmaster, a sudden surge of adolescent rebellion rising in him.  He was breathing heavily through his nostrils, and wearing a short path in the floor.

"I won't teach with him," said James flatly, stopping mid-pace, his hand slicing in gesticulation through the air.

"You don't have to teach with him.  You teach Defense.  He would teach Potions.  They're on completely different ends of the school.  You wouldn't even have to see him except to pass him in the corridor and at mealtimes."

"I'll quit," James threatened in a warning tone.  It was something he had no intention of doing, but he was on his last leg of contradiction.  If empty threats were his only hope…

"Okay," said Albus blandly.

"No, I'll really quit!  I don't need this job anyway.  I could stay home more often; Lily's just had the baby, and I'd be much more useful helping out at home than here arguing with _Snape_."

"Okay," said Albus again, the corners of his silver mustache twitching.

"What, you don't think I'm serious?  You don't think I have better things to do?  You won't even be able to _find_ another DADA teacher!  Sirius is your other option, and he sure as hell won't take the job once he finds out Snape's teaching here."

"Hmm," said Albus.

"That's it!  I'm leaving!  I'll pack tonight, Albus.  I'm going to pack right now."

"Okay."

James pushed in his chair, fuming and furious at not being taken seriously, and stormed to the door.  He threw it open, and stamped out.  As he clattered his irritable way down the spiral staircase, Albus' voice boomed after him sounding extremely entertained:  "See you in the morning, James!"

***

_Dear Mr. Snape,_

_            It certainly has been a long time._

_I have taken your letter into serious consideration; you are tenfold qualified for this position, and certainly the best candidate I have encountered so far.  There are a few minor issues I would like to clear up before we continue with this transaction, however._

_Firstly, I must inquire as to what motivated you to respond to this job offer.  I am well aware that your financial status does not require you to make any kind of a living at all, so why teach?  What are your aspirations as a Hogwarts teacher?  It is important for a Headmaster to know the drive of his employees._

_Secondly, the matter of this child you seem to be caring for comes into question.  Hogwarts teachers generally reside at the school for the duration of the school year, only going home for holidays and emergencies.  You would, of course, be granted several rooms for your living space, and there would be more than enough room for this child to stay with you at the school.  Even so, I want to be sure you are comfortable moving this child to a new and strange location at such a young age.  I am not sure that Hogwarts would be an altogether appropriate environment for the likes of a five-year-old._

_Thirdly, and most importantly, I am afraid that despite your gracious offer to 'make up for your irresponsible behavior five years ago,' I must be sure that I can fully trust you to be responsible for your own actions in the presence of your students and fellow staff members.  Now, this slight distrust will not affect my decision whether to give you this job or not, but be forewarned:  your first few weeks here will be a trial; I will be keeping an eye on you, Severus, and if I detect any indication that you cannot be trusted, you will be sent home._

_You are first in the running so far, Mr. Snape, and I look forward to your reply.  Hopefully we can get all this business behind us and get ready for the beginning of a new year!_

_Courteously yours,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

***

            It was Wednesday morning.  Charity sat across the table from Severus, still wearing her pajamas, which always consisted of some sort of discarded old garment of his.  This morning she was wearing an old pair of boxers (which fit like distinctly odd Capris, or Hobbit-pants on her small body) and a plain gray t-shirt that Severus had frequently worn under his robes when he attended Hogwarts.  Charity had had another nightmare last night, and now she was hunched sleepily over her plate, her face edging closer and closer in slow nodding motions, until Severus would cough, snap his fingers, or make some other kind of sharp noise to make her jerk back up again.

            When the midnight owl swooped into the dining hall, Severus nearly threw his fork down in nervous anticipation.  This owl quite possibly carried his fate printed on parchment in its beak.  As it flew in lower, narrower circles toward him, he felt his stomach mimicking its motion.  The owl clattered to a halt on the table, shrieked, and held out its leg to Severus.  With shaking hands, he untied the parchment, cracked the Hogwarts seal, and unfolded the letter.  

As he read Dumbledore's "firstly," section, he had only one thing to say.

            "_Shit_," he groaned, though he hadn't been expecting anything less.

            Charity's head jerked up again.  "Shit?" she repeated innocently.  Severus raised an eyebrow at her over the letter, but was far too distracted to reprimand her.

            The Headmaster had asked the venomous question:  Why?  Severus only skimmed through the rest of the letter; he could slide through all the other questions with ease, but the _why_ had him cornered.  He glanced up at Charity once more.  Moving to Hogwarts wouldn't bother her, would it?  She'd adapted to the strangeness of her life so far without much trouble, and whatever Dumbledore said, Severus was sure Hogwarts couldn't be a worse environment for her than the Snape Manor was.

            But--why?  Why, damn it… He tried to think.  It didn't work.

            He mentally cursed himself; he should have thought this through more thoroughly before he had owled Dumbledore in the first place.  Did he really think he could get past Dumbledore that easily?

            Well, no point sitting here and bitching about it, he thought vaguely.  Giving up his sad attempt at eating, Severus called for a house-elf to take his plate, and stood.  He decided to go retrieve a quill and parchment from his room.  He looked back at Charity, figured she was far too out of it to get into any trouble during his short absence, and trekked to his chambers.

            It is amazing how the atmosphere around a person can change when he feels pressured.  Suddenly the characteristic echo of his footsteps in the Snape Manor seemed even more resonant; the gargoyles had inexplicably increased in number and were _everywhere_, and even more sunlight had been choked off by the lack of windows in the place.  He hurried on his way, glaring at the deformed, surly statues as he passed them.

            When he came back into the dining hall, he discovered that Charity had fallen face-first into her eggs, and her hunched back rose and fell with each deep, sleepy breath.  With each exhale, her eggs gurgled on her plate.  He snorted, grateful for this brief, comic relief from his duty.

            "_Charity!"_ he barked.

            "Huh?" her head shot up from her plate, and her gurgling eggs seemed hesitant to part with it.  After a moment, part of them fell with a soft splat back onto the table.  Despite his stress, Severus grinned at her.

            "Done eating?" He remarked casually.

            "I fell on my plate," she responded disgustedly, her lip curling as she felt her rather slimy face.

            "Yes," smirked Severus.  "Here—" He strode around the table to her, picked up a cloth napkin, and wiped off her face.  "Time to go back to bed?"

            "Not tired," she insisted slowly, vigorously rubbing her right eye with her fist.

            Severus defied her, pulling back her chair and lifting her off of it, but she did not resist.  She allowed him to situate her comfortably in his arms, and lolled back against him as he carried her back to bed.  She was deeply asleep before he even reached his destination.  For a moment, his quill, parchment, and responsibility lay absolutely forgotten on the table.  He set her down on the bed, lifted her legs, and pulled the blankets over her.

            He sighed as harsh reality came back to him, and regretfully turned and left Charity's room.  He returned to the dining hall, and to his quill and parchment, and planned a rebuttal to Dumbledore's letter.

_Dear Headmaster, _he scrawled in opening.

            _I perfectly understand your hesitance to hire me, and I will answer your questions to the best of my ability._

He paused.  No, no, no, he thought.  That was blatantly stating to Dumbledore, 'give me a moment to bullshit you.'  He crumpled it up and pulled a new sheet of parchment toward him.  He tried again:

_Dear Headmaster,_

_            I quite understand your hesitance to hire me, and I would be pleased to answer your questions._

_            Do not be concerned for the child's sake; I'm sure she will adjust to life at Hogwarts easily.  Her entire life has been an adjustment, and I am sure she will handle it just as well as I._

Damn, he thought.  That went by much too quickly.  Now the hard part.

_My reasons for wanting to teach--_

"Empathy, empathy, empathy," Severus muttered to himself under his breath.  It has to flow together.  Keep it tied together...  He re-inked his quill, licked his lips, and strove on.

_My reasons for wanting to teach actually have a lot to do with my concern for the child's well being._

Very nice, he thought, smiling to himself.  Worded awkwardly in his impulse, but that only added to its…charm.

_We have both spent the majority of these past five years inside this manor with no one else to talk to.  I think it would be wise for her to interact with other people on a daily basis, and it would be good for me as well._

He sat back in his chair and reread it.  He didn't believe he had ever written anything more untrue-- or more convincing.  He continued:

Also, I feel that my talents are going to waste.  I miss the art of potion making, and I would relish an opportunity to practice it again.  Your position seemed to be perfect.

            He sat back again.  At length, he decided that this argument was sufficient enough, and sought to tackle the final issue of Dumbledore's response:

            I would never expect you to fully forgive my actions five years ago without question, and I am more than willing to prove to you that I am changed.  I hope that I can earn your trust.

            I hope that I have answered all your questions satisfactorily.

            Sincerely,

Severus Snape

He hesitated, his quill hovering over the parchment for an instant, and then dropped it in triumph and leaned back, blowing on the fresh ink.  As soon as it had dried, he folded the parchment as anally as humanly possible and sealed it with a couple drops of wax from the burning candle in front of him on the table.

He whistled, and the owl swooped back down to him, jerking its leg out irritably once more.  Severus awkwardly tied the folded parchment to the owl's leg and fed it some uneaten sausage from Charity's plate.  It catapulted into flight, and the air from its wings puffed into his face, moving his hair.

"Here goes," he muttered, and watched the owl soar through thin slices of early morning light that had somehow finally filtered into his dark manor.

***

            He received a response the very next day:  a concise letter, affirming his success at winning the position of Potions Master at Hogwarts, and inviting him to a mandatory all-staff meeting on Monday afternoon.

            I daresay you know most of the staff from your time as a student here, but I believe a little catching up might enlighten you, Dumbledore had written.  Severus wasn't sure why, but something about the way that statement was worded gave it a distinctly ominous ring.  He left it at the fact that being formally presented to an entire staff of teachers at a mandatory all-staff meeting seemed a distinctly ominous event, at least to him.  He wondered if the said 'enlightenment' was intended for him or for his former teachers, most of whom must remember him as 'the student who attacked our honorable, handsome, promising, athletic, and undeniably wholesome Head Boy, James Potter.'  It was Severus' only chance to impress upon them that he was not a danger to himself or others any longer.

            Dumbledore had also requested that he bring 'the child,' who should probably be introduced to the strangers she would soon be seeing every day.  Severus had informed her of the move that day, and she had hardly seemed phased.  All she had said was, "You're coming too, right?" and when he affirmed her, she hadn't had anything else to complain about.  Severus wondered how she would fare in a room of people staring at her; he, for one, looked forward to it as an absolutely hellish kind of torture, and Charity did have some of the same genes.  Then again, a sudden bitter thought invading his mind said, that was probably a gene passed down from his mother's side, so she wouldn't have to worry about it.  He quickly banished this train of thought before it could culture any further.

            All in all, when the brand on his forearm burned that anticipated Sunday evening, Severus prepared to answer his Call with a thrill of accomplishment.  High strung and extremely awake, he threw on his cloak, checked on Charity (who was blessedly sound asleep this time), and disapparated.

            He apparated into a dingy sitting room with a fire burning behind the grate.  Cobwebs stretched in wide screens over corners and disused, antique furniture, and thick dust shifted in small clouds beneath his feet.  The fire filled the room with a less-than glorious glow, emphasizing the decrepit state of the place.  This was a room he recognized; he had been present at many Death Eater gatherings held here.  He wondered at the sentiment the Dark Lord must have for this house, for it seemed a totally unremarkable location to Severus.  Meetings here were always crammed, airless, and muggy.

            For the next five minutes, the room was filled with the sound of swishing cloaks and murmurs as Voldemort's most devout followers answered his call (those arriving at the five-minute mark doing so as unobtrusively as possible, muttering frantic apologies for their tardiness).  As the Dark Lord began his customary welcome, Severus took his own silent role-call.  Though he couldn't see faces, he had memorized the voices that spoke from beneath the hoods.

            At his right, Deucalion Malfoy, shoulder to shoulder with his son.  Beside them stood Victor and Syrinx Lestrange, graduates of Hogwarts the year Severus arrived there…Elliot Macnair, a classmate…of course, Crabbe and Goyle…Antonin Dolohov and Evan Rosier, more of Lucius' boys…Ethan Travers and his father …Augustus Rookwood…Barty Crouch Jr, who had joined only recently; he had graduated only the previous year.… Severus continued mentally ticking off names, following the Dark Lord's trek around the circle.

            The Dark Lord passed him by, peering into his hood briefly, his thin mouth curling:  "I trust you have succeeded in your task?"

            "Yes, my Lord," Severus murmured promptly, careful to belie his inner self-satisfaction.

            "Good," Voldemort said curtly, and moved on.

            As Severus' heart rate returned to normal, he continued recounting names…until…

            "Wait—" he muttered, his internal dialogue slipping out.  Luckily no one seemed to have noticed.  Igor Karkaroff stood to his left, but…who was standing to his left?  It had previously been Trevor Mulciber, but Severus had clearly seen Voldemort pass the man to Karkaroff's left without a word, and address the next man in the line as Mulciber.  Severus did a quick double take of the lineup, counting; no, no, the numbers didn't match up.  There was a new Death Eater present at tonight's gathering.  Severus wondered how this new member knew where his place in the circle was to be; usually, new members were presented to the Death Eaters before they were assigned a place…

            Severus didn't have long to contemplate this, as the Dark Lord had finished his greeting, and was speaking again.  He quickly brought his mind to attention, lest he be called on.

            "My Followers," Voldemort said. "Tonight's will be a brief meeting.  I have Called many of you individually since our last official gathering to delegate you each a task to help fulfill my Plan.  Tonight you will each inform me of your progress.  Starting with our most important role—" Severus felt a rush of pride. "—Snape.  You have succeeded?"

            "Yes, my Lord," Severus answered again, stepping forward into the firelight.  "Dumbledore has appointed me Hogwarts Potions Master.  I am to move in tomorrow afternoon and attend a staff meeting."

            "Very good," Voldemort said, smiling grimly.  "I knew I could count upon you."  

Murmurs of jealousy could be heard following this rare praise.  

"Your task is to be more specific than I have clarified, Severus," he continued.  "Not only will you be my permeation into Hogwarts, it will be your responsibility to give me regular information concerning a certain individual now working at the school whom I will indicate to you after you have settled in your new location.  Be prepared."

"Yes, my Lord," said Severus yet again, wondering who this 'certain individual' might be.

He moved on, addressing others in the group.  Updates were announced, several punishments were dealt out for failure to meet deadlines (Severus had become accustomed to witnessing these, as they happened at nearly every gathering), and new orders were given.  Rookwood was tortured for an exceptionally long time tonight; he had failed to persuade Ludo Bagman to trust him with information about an effort being made against the Death Eaters.  Even Severus thought this torture was well deserved, as Ludo Bagman was the most prominent imbecile he had ever met.  He couldn't imagine that persuading Bagman to gossip a little was a terribly difficult task.

The meeting lasted only about three quarters of an hour.  Severus tried to linger behind the rest, to find out who the new member was, but when he turned to get a better look at the man he met the Dark Lord's pointed glare.  His mask of self-discipline failed him for a moment and he jerked, but he quickly disapparated before he was chastised.

"Damn," he muttered, pulling off his cloak and sitting on the edge of his bed.  He was endlessly curious as to who this new Death Eater was, and why he hadn't been ceremoniously presented to the circle.  He supposed it wasn't important; probably just some seventh year at the school who didn't want his parents to find out or something…

Suddenly very tired, Severus got undressed except for his boxers, checked on Charity again (still sleeping; tonight was a good night, apparently), and got into bed.  He had an important day tomorrow; something he mustn't mess up.  He had planned to pack up his things tonight, but he figured he would have plenty of time in the morning.

He slept well.

***

            James didn't normally mind staff meetings, but he had a feeling that from now on he would regard them with nothing less than absolute dread.

            He had seen the carriage arrive at the gate from his office window, but had quickly flicked his wand at the shade, pulling it shut.  He didn't even want to see that man until it was absolutely forced upon him.  

But, as cruel fate insists, time will fly when one is dreading something.  He watched the short hand of the clock on the wall fall upon the two with (or so it seemed to James) a deafening thud.  He was hunched over behind his desk, a look of constipated loathing swallowing his boyish features.  His breath, which he had been holding for an unknown amount of time, seemed to be forcing its way out of his larynx in a drawn-out, suppressed hiss.  He couldn't seem to make himself move from his seat.  Seconds later…

Bam, bam, bam!  

"James!"

"Whaaaat?"

The heavy door to his office opened, and he was awakened to reality by the harsh click of Minerva McGonagall's high-heeled boots on the stone floor.  "Are you aware that we have a staff meeting?  Now?"

"Well—"

"Never mind, don't answer that.  Albus seemed to think you might need a little…encouragement to get there on time."

"Well, I—"

"Why is it, James, that whenever I have a conversation with you I forget that you are supposed to be my peer?"

"Perhaps it's because you never really have a conversation with me," said James lightly, a teasing smile creeping on his face as he stood and pushed in his chair.  "Any dialogue between us usually consists of you telling me what to do and me excusing myself for not doing it."

She looked at him blankly.  "Was that supposed to be an argument for your defense, Potter?  Quite honestly, I couldn't tell…"

"Me neither; I was just procrastinating."

"I know."  She sighed and tipped her head to the side, for an instant flashing him a sympathetic look.  When he blinked, it was gone, and she was crisply Professor McGonagall again.  "Let's go."

James trudged behind the Deputy Headmistress, building up his resolve.  After all, he was an adult.  Why should he let Snape, of all people, intimidate him?  It was time to put old trauma behind and face facts:  Snape was a colleague now.  James knew he wasn't always going to be able to work with people he liked; he would just have to get used to it, deal with it, and move on.  Like an adult would do.

"Fizzing Whizbee," James heard Minerva mutter to the gargoyle barring the entrance to Albus' domain.  A thin tracery of white light raced about its features for a split second before fading away to nothing, and the gargoyle scraped its way to the side, revealing the doorway.  They stepped onto the granite staircase, which instantly began to spiral upwards as the gargoyle slid back into place at their backs.

As the unremarkable oak door came into view, James felt his stomach drop.  Minerva grasped the brass knocker and rapped it against the door twice in quick succession.  An instant later, the door creaked open and Albus' amiable face peeped around the corner.

"Ah, Minerva, James!" he said, opening the door wider.  "Do come in!"

They walked in, and Albus shut the door behind him.  There were perhaps thirty rather cushy, high-backed chairs crammed in rows; all of them were occupied except for the two directly in front of Albus' desk.  James kept his eyes firmly to the front of the room as he sat down, though he noticed an appalled-sounding splutter from the end of the row behind him.

"Good, we're all here," said Albus, taking a seat behind his desk and peering cheerfully around at them all.  "Let's see…Of course, first order of business:  I'd like to introduce our newest staff member, Severus Snape.  He will be teaching Potions, and will take Professor Duvall's place as the new Head of Slytherin House."

There was scattered applause as Albus gestured to a seat one behind and a few seats down from James'.  His hands stayed glued to his knees, and his face glued to Albus.  Unfortunately, a sharp, blue glare told him he would have to face the music sooner or later.  When the applause had died down and Albus had moved on to the next issue, James craned his head to the left, catching a glimpse of his nemesis out of the corner of his eye.

Albus' voice was completely drowned out by a horrified jolt all through James' body as the corner of his left eye was met with a full-on, black-eyed stare.  He gulped rather loudly, and the corner of Snape's thin mouth quirked upward.  His ebony eyes regarded James with disdainful sarcasm, and he tipped his head to the side, smiling sourly, in a kind of head-curtsey.  James furiously snapped back to attention, glaring at Albus.  If he was as 'transparent' as the old man seemed to think he would be able to clearly read James' expression.

For the rest of the meeting, James sat stiffly in his chair, staring determinedly at Albus, though focusing completely on the holes being pierced into the back of his head.  The hairs on the back of his neck were at rigid attention.  When James finally caught a finite tone in Albus' voice, and people around him began rustling to their feet and milling toward the door, James shot out of his seat.  He rushed to merge with the crowd of departing teachers, but a hand fell on his shoulder and pulled him back.

He turned around to face Albus, who smiled grimly at him and said, "James, why don't you stay a moment?"

"I have work to do," retaliated James quickly.

"Oh, I'm sure it can wait, James.  Plenty of time for work later!  Not to worry…"

James was initiating his furiously telepathic expression again, but Albus ignored it and called to someone standing behind them:  "Severus!"  He flicked his wand over James' shoulder and all of the chairs disappeared except for three.

"Please sit down," he said, pointing at the chairs.  His face assumed a somewhat sober tension.

James reluctantly sat down in the leftmost chair and watched in revulsion as Severus Snape sat down in the chair next to him.  He suddenly realized that Snape was not alone; a little girl with curly, black hair was scooting back into the chair next to him.  They were obviously related somehow; they had the same tilted eyebrows and shade of hair.  However, James couldn't see how anyone related to Snape could be so…cute.  Perhaps, he thought, it was just a temporary charm of youth.  Her large brown eyes stared at him curiously.

"Hello, Potter," said Snape, each syllable containing a derisive diphthong.  "How's life?"

Albus seemed to be making no move; he had sat back in his chair and was watching impassively.

"Good," said James stiffly.  "You?"

"Oh, fabulous," Snape responded, jerking his head slightly to brush a lock of greasy hair from his eyes.  "Though I was not informed I'd be seeing you here."  He had the insolence to deliver Albus a pointed glare.  "It might have been a helpful bit of information."

"How so, Severus?" inquired Albus casually from his reclined position.  "You are free to leave whenever you wish, of course.  This is not only a trial for my sake."

Snape's face grew even sourer as Albus emphasized the word 'trial.'

James was still trying to console himself mentally:  he is an insecure, pitiful human being…

"You are, of course, free to go whenever you wish."

"Oh, I have no intention of going," said Snape, always an artist of vocal expression, able to mix amicability with threat all in one small sentence.

"Good!" said Albus brightly.  "I trust you have found your accommodations suitable?"

"Quite," said Snape dryly.

"I was disappointed that you didn't seize an opportunity to introduce your little sister to the staff, Severus," Albus continued.

"I didn't see the need," said Snape curtly.  "She'll meet who she needs to meet eventually."

"Well perhaps you could introduce her to one person she needs to meet," said Albus persistently, nodding to James.

Snape's face twisted in distaste, as though James obviously didn't qualify as someone the little girl needed to meet.  In fact, James detected that Snape would rather she not associate with him at all.

"Charity," he said sharply, "this is James Potter.  Another teacher."  James felt a spark of indignity at this introduction; Snape had a way of exaggerating diction to portray the insignificance of things.  Or people.

"Hi, Charity," James said warmly, smiling at the little girl and holding out his hand.

"Hi," she said, hopping out of her chair to shake his hand.  As she did so, she whispered rather loudly:  "He doesn't like you much, does he?"

For one brief instant, James and his enemy were synonymously entertained.  All three men present snorted.

"Leave it to a child to get right to the point," said Albus, sitting forward and smiling slightly.  "Just the thing I wanted to discuss with you both."

The mood in the room turned sour instantly, and Charity let go of James' hand and struggled back into her seat.

"I want to remind both of you that there is a code of conduct here at Hogwarts that must be minded."

Both of the young men glared at him.

"And while it may have been accepted to disregard this code as students, now that you are teachers such disregard will not be tolerated.  I expect you to treat each other respectfully and to be a good example to your students.  Understood?"

"Understood," said James.  Snape merely jerked his head in a nod.

"Wonderful," said Albus, soundly slightly weary.  "As the first day of term begins tomorrow, I suggest you both go prepare your first lessons…. Ah, Severus!  I'd almost forgotten—" he added as they stood.  He rummaged around in his desk for a moment, and then pulled out a sheet of paper.  "Your class schedule."

Snape took it, barely glancing at it.  "Thank you, Headmaster," he said, and headed for the door.

James hung back for a moment after Snape had left.  He was just about to make a furious remark when Albus yawned and pointed at the door.

"You'll learn to live with it," he said patently.  James mouthed silently at him for a moment.  Then, giving up, he left.

As he emerged from behind the gargoyle, he saw Snape walking down the corridor toward the staircases that led to the dungeons.  The little girl trailed happily after him, jogging now and then to keep up with his merciless stride.  James suddenly felt very sorry for her; he wondered if Snape was as cold to her as he was to other people.

"Snape!" he shouted sharply.  Snape stopped, but did not turn around, though Charity did.  She smiled at him.  James walked a few steps toward them, within a reasonable speaking difference.  "I don't care what Albus said," he snapped.  "I'm warning you now:  don't mess with me this year."  Charity stopped smiling.

"Oh, don't worry, Potter," Snape's voice echoed from his back, melodiously snide with that ever-present hint of threat, "I have no desire whatsoever to 'mess with you.'"

He started walking again.  James ran after him and caught up to them, cutting in front of Snape and looking him straight in the eye.  "Don't think for a second that I trust you, Snape," he hissed.  

To his fury, Snape actually laughed.

"Oh you don't, do you?" he sneered.  "Good.  Well, perhaps since I seem to threaten your masculinity so much, you had best stay out of my way.  I wouldn't want to interfere with your heroic reputation."

"You don't threaten me at all," snapped James.  There was a long pause, during which James watched with disgust as a cynical smile grew on Snape's face.

"Then why are we still standing here?" said Snape, and he brushed past James without another word.

The little girl hesitated, looking at James solemnly, and then she ran after her brother.

James stood watched them with growing unease until they had disappeared around a corner.  Despite what Albus thought, James considered Severus Snape very capable of causing considerable damage.  After all, James knew from personal experience.  Albus wasn't there five years ago.  Hadn't witnessed it.…  Hadn't felt it….

Albus hadn't seen him lose control.

        


	10. Iscariot Vs Emmanuel

_centerThe sun rises to another day._

_My constitution keeps changing_

_'Til it slips away._

_So I lie awake and stare,_

_My mind thinking, just wandering_

_Is anybody there?_

_Sitting in my room now,_

_Hiding in thoughts._

_Just hoping one day I'll get out._

_I hear a voice call my name._

_Breaking a trance, so silent,_

_So I can stay the same._

_Wait now, many things left unsaid._

_This life remains the same,_

_But I change._

_I try to fool myself in believing_

_Things are going to get better,_

_But life goes on._

_Should I stay or go?_

_Should I sleep or stay awake?_

_Am I really happy, or is it all_

_Just an illusion?/center_

boldTremonti/Stapp:  "Illusion"/bold 

Severus increased his pace to an almost frantic level, fleeing to the dungeons—his new home.  He vaguely registered that his breathing was quick, his legs takinglarger and larger strides as he went.  He just wanted solitude.

Damn James Potter.  Damn, damn, _damn_ him.  Had the Dark Lord known he was here?  Was this another cruel form of retribution?  To share a whole semester—possibly even an entire _year_—with _Potter_….  He shook his head, a violent sigh of frustration bursting from his lips.

            Suddenly he heard a slight squeak from behind him, and he whipped around to see Charity topple to the floor, one small foot crossed over the other.  She was winded, and her elbows hit the cold stone with a loud _thunk_.  Tears soon followed.

            "Oh," snapped Severus to himself, backtracking a few steps and bending over to lift her off the floor.  He set her on her feet and squatted before her, brushing her off.  "I'm sorry, Char…"

            "Walk…too fast…" she choked between breathless sobs, cradling her left elbow.

            "Shush, calm down," he sighed, gingerly taking hold of her wrist and lifting it above her head to see her elbow.  A thin layer of tender skin had been scraped away, revealing a patch of raw, pink, and bleeding skin.

            "I'll fix this up in a minute," he said, grazing his thumbs under her eyes and over her red cheeks to wipe the tears away.  "Come here."

            He craned his head down, and she put her arms around his neck, allowing him to lift her.  She hooked her ankles behind his back, sniffling into his robes as he assumed a much slower pace.

            Severus cursed himself.  What was he so shaken for?  Was he so completely thrown off balance by a mere confrontation with his former enemy?  As if he hadn't seen worse threats since his seventh year….  Potter was by far the least of his worries; had _always_ been the least of his worries.  Why was Severus so affected by him now?

            He had felt it again.  That long-forgotten stirring within his gut that challenged his self-control.  Hadn't he outgrown this?  It was nothing but childish rage, he told himself.  He had too willingly accepted the idea that he would never have to see Potter again after…the incident.  And in the shock that his assumptions had been false he had let himself fall into the old practice of competition--it was all a game of words.  Someone won, and someone lost.  Always.  If he looked at it that way, he knew he would always have the advantage.  He just had to be careful not to let his perspective slip to the level of subject matter…

            Well, now he would be prepared.  Prepared with the knowledge that there were far more dangerous threats in this world than Saint Potter and memory.  Threats like keeping up an act good enough to impress Albus Dumbledore and the staff…a challenge which would, of course, be made more difficult by the presence of Saint Potter and memory….  He shook his head, thinking that sometimes he would do better to not think at all. 

            He reached the door to his office, leaning back to resettle Charity's weight against him so he could free his left hand.  He turned the curved silver handle and nudged the door open, walked in and kicked it shut behind him.

            "Now then," he muttered to Charity, bending over to deposit her in the chair of black leather behind his desk.  "Let's see about this."

            She lifted her arm for him, and he pulled his wand out of his robes.  He gently rested the tip of it on her scrape, muttering a healing spell.  The skin stretched together over the wound, which seemed to sink into her arm and out of existence.

            "Better?" he said, letting go her arm.  

She nodded, wiping her nose on his sleeve.

"I thank you," he said, jerking his arm away from her in disgusted exasperation.

As he dropped his wand in his pocket, Severus felt something else—a folded piece of parchment.  His class schedule.  He pulled it out, scanning it over.

Gryffindor and Hufflepuff fifth years.  That was his first class.  His two least favorite Houses, mixed with an ungodly early hour and the prospect of seeing James Potter at breakfast right before.

            But it couldn't be hard, this teaching thing, thought Severus.  After all, these fifth years were the very three-foot-tall imps he had glowered down at back in his seventh year.  They had been about waist-height then, and he had scared the living shit out of them with a mere _glare_.  He wouldn't expend too much effort on them.  As for Potter….

            Who said he had to eat breakfast with the rest of the staff?  Surely having just moved in the day before would justify having a 'lie-in', and Severus had distinctly heard Dumbledore say that teachers could take their meals in the staff room if they didn't want to dine in the Great Hall.  Potter being such the social butterfly he was, Severus thought darkly to himself, he would certainly want to take his breakfast in the presence of a thousand other people. 

***

            But when Severus entered the potentially empty staff room the next morning, Charity shuffling sleepily in his wake, Potter was precisely the person he encountered.

            His nemesis was sitting by himself, nodding before a cup of coffee and today's _Prophet_.  He looked blearily up as Severus entered and froze, Charity colliding with the back of his legs and muttering a disgruntled 'ow.'  For about three early-morning seconds, each man slowly registered the other's presence.  Then they groaned simultaneously; Severus rolled his eyes at the irony, and Potter slapped his paper down in irritation.

            "You two are stupid," said a small, agitated voice bluntly, and Charity pushed past Severus's legs and into the staff room.  Potter blinked at her in surprise as she seated herself next to him quite comfortably, looking pointedly at Severus.  "Slippers, please," she said.  And Potter blinked again, glancing confusedly at Severus.

            "You brought her down here barefooted?"  He asked incredulously.

            "No," snapped Severus, planted firmly in his spot in the doorway.  "Come on, Charity.  We're going back to the dungeons."

            "Why did we come up here if you just wanted to leave again?" she whined.  "It's _warmer_ in here, and I'm hungry _now_ anyway."

            "We came up here to confuse Potter, which is very easy to do, though I congratulate you nonetheless.  Now that we have done so, it's time to go."

            "Stop talking like that," Charity snapped back, upset at being refused.  "You sound so dumb when you talk like that, when you get around people."

            At this, Potter snorted loudly.

            "What are you doing in here, anyway?" Severus retorted, snarling at Potter.  "I'd have thought you'd want to go break your holy bread and share the cup with the rest of the staff."

            "As it was, there was a certain disciple I didn't fancy sharing my cup with this morning," Potter growled.  "But seeing as he's brought his germs in here, I think I'll take my breakfast in the Great Hall from now on."

            "Wonderful.  Don't hesitate to break your body and spill your blood on the way out.  It's something I'd rather enjoy seeing."

            Furious, Potter snatched up his paper, drained the last of his coffee (trying very hard not to show how scalding it still was), and stormed out.  Nudging Severus none too gently aside as he reached the doorway, he muttered, "Later, Iscariot."

            "'_Later, Iscariot_,' Potter?" Severus sneered after him as he retreated down the corridor.  "You just ruined my whole parody with that terrible pun."

            "Seemed pretty accurate to me…"  Potter's voice sang, floating over his shoulder from the back of the messy black head.  _Always has to have the last word,_ Severus thought irritably to himself.  _No matter how stupid it sounds_.

            As fruitless as the confrontation had seemed, he felt a strong urge to beat something well up inside his gut.  

Preferably something round and hollow clad in messy black hair and glasses.

***

            He was sitting at his desk, reclined in his chair when the students began to file into the classroom.  He said nothing, surveying them all as they took their seats, the noise level increasing steadily as more students entered the room.  When they had all found their seats and it was impossible to discern anything over their mindless chattering, Severus stood.    

            "Quiet!" he barked over their heads.  None of them even took notice of him.  He drew his wand from his robes, pointed it at the ceiling, and produced with it a deafening _crack!_ And a small puff of smoke.

            The class jerked as one, several small screams being emitted.  They were instantly silent, staring at Severus with wide eyes as the smoke from his wand drifted lazily upwards, dissipating.  He slipped his wand back into his robes with satisfaction.  Small whispers began to break out, and he raised his eyebrow at them.  They desisted.

            Severus almost laughed out loud.  He _raised his eyebrow_, and they desisted!  It was extremely entertaining.  As he turned to face the blackboard, the whispers started up again.  

He glided silently to the blackboard, ignoring the spitting hiss of adolescent whispering behind him, and picked up a piece of chalk.  With it he scrawled not his name or any kind of introductory phrase at all, just:  _Pg. 296, Section 4-1A:  Sleeping Draughts.  Read and complete lab in Section Follow-up._  The chalk clicked menacingly as it was replaced on its shelf, and Severus dealt the class a warning glance as he strode back to his desk and sat down.

            A sort of indignant tittering broke out.  After a few moments, the notorious voice of an idiotic attention-seeker rang through the dungeon, drawling:  "Is there a name that goes with that?"

            The class sputtered with repressed giggles. 

            Severus calmly stood once more, leaning back against his desk.  He put his right hand in the pocket of his robes, but his left rested on the quill lying on his desk.  "Why don't you tell me yours first?" he said smoothly, his eyes falling upon a burly boy with dark auburn hair that fell into his eyes.  The boy leaned back, smirking, folding his hands across his stomach as he tilted his chair back on two legs.  His delusional superiority and irritating jauntiness reminded Severus strongly of Sirius Black.  The stitching on his robes clearly etched out a red and gold lion.  Within the corner of his brain that was still fifteen years old, Severus vaguely hoped the boy would overbalance his chair and crash to the floor with all his belongings.

            "Adam Shrawbad," replied the boy confidently, rocking his chair.  Severus _willed_ it to tip.

            "Good," he muttered, picking up his quill and scribbling on an empty corner of parchment.  "So then it would be five points from Gryffindor…in the name of Mr. Shrawbad."  He set down his quill again and smiled at Adam Shrawbad, who was back on four legs and gaping in a very snubbed manner.

            "You may call me Professor Snape," he continued, sitting down once more.

            For a good time after that the class was silent except for the scribbling of quills, the grinding of ingredients against bowls of clay, and the hissing of steaming cauldrons.  All in all, it was nearly therapeutic for Severus, who sat back in his chair, flipping through the potion book of his next class:  third years.  He was just deciding to have them attempt a Forgetfulness Potion when a quivering voice cut through his reverie.

            "P-professor Snaaape…!"

            He glanced up irritably, raising his eyebrows.  A rather spindly girl with a large face and straight blonde hair had her hand stretched high into the air.  After a second's analysis of her, Severus suddenly realized that she was gradually recoiling from her cauldron, bending her knees and placing her heels on the edge of her seat…

            He jumped from his seat immediately and swooped down to her side, bending over her cauldron.  It was frothing a sickly green foam, which began to spill over the lip of her cauldron.  The mutated concoction sizzled as it hit the floor in globs, leaving rather nasty green stains.

            "_Finite Incantatem!_" Severus barked at the cauldron, snapping his wand-arm out so fast that the girl gasped, losing hold of one of her legs.  Her foot fell into a gluey puddle under her chair, which then splattered onto Severus's shoes and the hem of his robes.  The cauldron had stopped frothing; in fact, it was completely empty save a curl of smoke twining up from the depths of its belly.  Severus's shoes now had holes in them, however, and the hem of his robes was ridiculously frayed.

            "Idiot girl!" Severus hissed before he could stop himself.  "The directions in your book state _quite clearly_ that the ground fairies' wings must be _diluted!_  Did you mix them with the scarab powder?  _Answer me!_"

            Her blue eyes wide, the girl jumped.

            "N-n-no…" she breathed, sounding utterly petrified.  "I thought—"

            "I think it would be in the best interests of the general public if you refrained from doing that from now on," Severus hissed at her, narrowing his eyes as the skin on his instep began to burn.  "_Thinking_, that is.  You are obviously incapable of doing it properly, so you might as well let the rest of us with an adequate supply of _brains_ take care of it for you!"

            There was complete silence.  Looking around them, Severus saw that the entire class was gaping open-mouthed at him.  The shocked Hufflepuff girl he had snapped at's eyes filled with tears, which almost made him scoff.  He thought better of it when a sudden thought entered his head:  _keeping up the act, right Severus?_  News traveled quickly through a student body…

            He took a couple of deep breaths.  "…Are you hurt?" he asked as calmly as he could, trying to redeem himself.

            "M-my foot—"  

            Severus looked down at her foot and saw that his weren't the only shoes with holes burnt through them.

            "Very well, go to the hospital wing," sighed Severus.  "Just be sure to…be careful…er.  Next time."

            She gathered up her things and positively _fled_ from the classroom.  Severus slowly stood upright, ignoring the excruciating pain on the tops of his feet.  The students still stared incredulously at him, and Adam Shrawbad whispered something to his desk mate.

            "GET BACK TO WORK!"  Severus howled at them, and walked back up to his desk with as much dignity as he could muster.

            When class was over twenty minutes later, no one was more relieved than Severus himself.  He pretended not to hear the torrent of outrage that exploded in the corridor as his door swung shut.

            "Eurgh, oh _God…_" he grunted, pulling off his mutilated shoes and socks to reveal the blistered skin beneath.  "_Ouuuch…_"

            He clumsily retrieved his wand from his pocket and attempted to heal himself.  He'd never been very good at healing charms.  Oh, a scrape here and there was no trouble, but blistered, burned flesh was another thing.  Also, for some reason, healing charms seemed to work better when he was performing them on Charity as apposed to himself.  He was left with several tiny blisters.  Standing, he repaired the hem of his robes, and then he moved on to his shoes.  Looking them over, he decided they were beyond hope and went to retrieve another pair from his bedchamber.

            As he walked barefoot into his bedroom he discovered Charity sitting on his bed, playing Exploding Snap with herself.

            "Severus?" she asked him as he got to his knees and reached under his immense four-poster.

            "Hmm?"

            "I'm bored."

            "You're bored?" he asked, pulling on a new pair of black socks.  "You look to me like you're fairing alright."

            "I'm hungry, too."

            "You seem to have a fondness for footwear, don't you?" he muttered, lacing up his left boot and nodding toward the crispy ones at the foot of the bed.

            "Huh?"

            "Nothing," he snorted, standing and wincing slightly as his socks rubbed against the remaining blisters.  "Here—"

            He pointed his wand at a spot on the bed in front of her, and in a moment she had a plate full of various items of junk food and candy.  "Will that do?"

            "Mmmm," she said, licking her lips and smiling up at him.

            "I've got another class to teach, and then it's time for lunch," said Severus, heading for the door.  "Don't make yourself sick."

            "Mmmhmm," she nodded through a mouthful of chocolate frog.

            "See you in a bit."

            When he opened the door to his classroom, there was already an entire herd of chattering third years waiting for him.

            "It's going to be a _long day_," he muttered to himself, and walked straight to the blackboard.

***

            When he finally stumbled into his bedchamber for the second time, sucking on two rather charred fingers, Severus found Charity asleep on his bed, surrounded by wrappers.  She had a delicate smudging of brown about her lips and fingers.  Her little white stomach, which was peeping out between the bottom of her (his) shirt and the top of her (his) boxers, looked very full.

            He shook his head at her, getting the impression that his decision to appease her with sweets hadn't been altogether wise.  He grabbed the wastepaper basket sitting in the corner, pointed his wand at the bed, and muttered:  "_Accio!_"  A flock of wrappers flew at him, and with his wand Severus directed them into the basket and replaced it in the corner.

            He then approached the bed, looking down at his little sister.  She breathed a rather loud breath in through her mouth, then swallowed, smacking her lips against the sticky chocolate that covered them.  Severus leaned over her, smirking, moved his face close to hers and said, "_BOO._"

            Her eyes flew open and she jerked, then swallowed awkwardly.  For a moment Severus was afraid she might get sick, but she seemed to recompose herself, sitting up.

            "Time for lunch," said Severus, stepping back from the bed.

            "Eurgh," said Charity in a somewhat guttural tone.

            "I told you not to make yourself sick," Severus reprimanded her, trying not to laugh as she struggled off the side of the bed to her feet.

            "Didn't," she hiccupped.  "I'm not very hungry, though…"

            "Well come with me to the staff room anyway, and we'll see if you're hungry once you get there."

            Despite his earlier experience with taking meals in the staff room, Severus was still more willing to go there than to the Great Hall.  He didn't like the idea of all the students seeing Charity sitting up there with him.  It might provoke some very annoying questions from his next few classes.  He was also minutely afraid that the story of his outburst would have spread already, and that many eyes would be on him, which could provoke suspicion from Dumbledore.  It was a risk he wasn't willing to take just yet.

            He got Charity dressed in some clothes of her own and wiped off her face, and they journeyed from the dungeons to the staff room.  Severus kept his pace very slow, keeping Charity in the corner of his eye at all times.  He still felt rather bad about leaving her behind yesterday, and she also had a greenish tint to her face, so he thought he should keep an eye on her.

            As Severus grasped the handle to the staff room door, he realized there were voices coming from inside.  Upon opening the door, he discovered all his worst nightmares collected in one room.

            James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Lily Evans—no, _Potter_ now, wasn't it—and the rather fat baby on her lap all sat around the table in the staff room, platters of various foods they had ordered from their plates surrounding them.  Their rather raucous conversation quieted as he entered the room.

            "Oh, fantastic," said Severus in disgust, and promptly turned around.  He seriously hoped that Potter having guests during his lunch hour was _not_ a regular occurrence.

            "Going so soon?" sneered a voice from behind him, its owner obviously emboldened by his entourage, who all chuckled dutifully at his words.

            "Yes, actually," he said sharply, trying to restrain himself from violence as Sirius Black, his sleek brown hair falling over his left eye, smirked at him.  "All of you in one room—I'm rather afraid my little sister will get eaten."  He let his eyes trail slowly over Lupin in disgust.  The werewolf said nothing, his face remaining, as usual, and irritatingly unabashed.

            Unfortunately, his words caused too much of a distraction for anyone to be offended by them.

            "Little sister, eh?" Black crowed, craning his neck as if to look over Severus's shoulder.  "Reckon you could set me up with her, Snape?  Oh—unless she looks like you, that is."

            "Yeah, if you fancy five-year-olds," snorted Potter, flicking a bit of pudding in his friend's direction.  Most amusingly, his aim was misguided, and his chubby spawn soon had a glob of cream sliding down his face.  The child's green eyes crossed as it scaled his forehead and slid onto his nose.

            "Eurgh, James!" Lily scolded, unfolding a napkin to wipe her baby's face.

            "No, leave it there," Severus scoffed, his lip curling at the happy little pudge.  "_It_ looks much better that way."

            At this, Potter's eyes flashed.  "That 'it' you were just referring to better not have been my son," he growled, making as if to stand.

            "I was talking about the pudding, actually" Severus lied.  "I think it is in the pudding's best interests to stay as far away from your mouth as possible.  After all, things that wind up there—" he glared meaningfully at Lily.  "—are doomed for a pretty pathetic future…"

            She looked blankly at him for a moment, and then her eyes and mouth grew round, and her face grew red.  Severus grinned inwardly.  _Score!_

"Get out!" she said shrilly, sounding much more like the rule-obsessed, easily-offended Evans Severus had known her to be in their school days.  Her eyes flew to her husband as his chair flew back.  Potter jumped to his feet, advancing toward Severus.

            "Well, that's my two knuts, off we go," said Severus quickly, turning and opening the door behind him.  Charity, who had been hiding behind him, received a brusque nudge out the door, and Severus slammed it satisfyingly in Potter's face.  "Later, Emmanuel," he sneered at the door.

***

            "James, just sit down," Lily said in as pacifying a voice as she could muster.  "You're playing right into his hands.  That's just how he wanted you to react."

            "Obviously not," said Sirius conversationally, placing another sandwich onto his plate.  "Otherwise he wouldn't have run out with his tail between his legs like that…. Stupid really.  Provoking you like that and then leaving before you can beat the shit out of him…."

            "Sirius, there are minors in the room," Lily said, placing her hands over Harry's ears, though her lips twitched.

            "Aw, he's fine," grinned Sirius, reaching down the table and ruffling his godson's hair.  "Besides, he needs to learn the proper terms with which to address that son of a—"

            "_Who does he think he is?_" James burst out, sitting violently back in his chair.  "Comes in here acting like he has _any_ right to speak to me that way…."

            "Don't worry James," said Remus, grinning slyly at his fork.  "Like Sirius said, it doesn't take a genius to see who's got the, erm..._longer tail_…"

            The whole table burst out laughing, and Harry's eyes brightened at the sound; he fidgeted, making a small, excited sound and smiling.  James, chuckling despite his lingering anger, reached over for his son.

            Harry happily reached his pudgy hands out to his father, who sat him on his lap and kissed the top of his head.

            "Ack, stop it James, you're making me all weepy," said Peter through a mouthful of food.

            "Hey, speaking of kids, what's with that little sister of Snape's?" said Sirius.  "She seems a bit young to be his _sister_ is all…and what's she doing here anyway?"

            "Apparently he's taking care of her," James said, not bothering to hide the disapproval in his voice.

            "What, hasn't she got parents?  I mean, of all people, _he's_ the last one I'd expect to volunteer—"

            "Wait a minute," Remus suddenly said, setting down his fork.  "You said she's five?"

            "Yeah," James said.

            "Doesn't make sense," he continued thoughtfully.  "I mean, rumor had it his mum died when he was at school…."

            "Maybe it's his half sister," James shrugged.  "She doesn't really look all that much like him except for her coloring."

            "Yeah, she's actually _cute_," Peter piped in between bites.

            "But his father supposedly disappeared back when we were seventeen…_five years ago_…"

            "So?" said Sirius.  "He took off right after she was born, then?  Makes sense.  Look what happened the _first_ time he had a kid…."

            "If his mum was dead, and his father disappeared…"

            "We don't know when his father disappeared, or if his mum's even really dead," James pointed out.  "Disappeared…. I'll bet his dad's still around, right at the center of things…."

            A heavy silence followed these words.  It was so easy to forget, when they were all together, the kind of danger each faced with every blink they allowed themselves.  An Auror, a man who lived off his 'understanding' Ministry's insufficient welfare, a man who bounced from job to job and felt perhaps less, perhaps more pressure than the rest of them, a teacher, a wife, and a child…they were all so different, and yet all facing the same challenges.  Some were triumphing, some had triumphed, and one had already failed…. 

            "It's just weird, that's all," said Remus quietly after a moment, looking perplexed.  "Something's not right…"      

"What, are you suggesting she's actually Snape's _daughter_ or something?" said Sirius, furrowing his brows at Remus.

"Well, if _you_ had a kid when you were seventeen, would you want to tell everyone about it?" reasoned Remus.  "Hell, _I'd_ probably lie."

"But who do you reckon he could've gotten pregnant?" James said, leaning forward.

A few minutes passed in silence, the only noises being made by Peter, who drank deeply from his goblet, peering over its edge to survey the conversation.  Suddenly, Sirius snapped his fingers.

"Who was that one girl, that girl he hung about with all the time…" he said, snapping repeatedly and looking up at the ceiling.  "Ravenclaw…Meisner!  Char-Charity!  Charity Meisner!"

"CHARITY!" James roared abruptly, slamming his hand down on the table.  Harry jolted in his lap, startled by the sound.   "His 'little sister!'  Her name's Charity!  Oh, my God…"

"So he got Charity Meisner of Ravenclaw preggers, named his daughter after her, and told everyone it was his sister!" Sirius said excitedly, sitting forward, his eyes alight.  "It makes perfect sense!"

"What about Meisner, though," said James doubtfully, bouncing Harry slightly on his knee to calm him.  "I haven't heard a word about her, and Snape's definitely not married or anything…."

"She left him, then," said Remus gravely, sitting back.

"No," said Lily firmly.  The men all swiveled around to look at her.  "She wouldn't—she _couldn't_ have done that!  She was my partner in Charms all of sixth year, and she was always so nice to me."

"_Nice_?" said Sirius incredulously.  "Right, Lily.  You're thinking of the wrong girl.  She was anything but _nice_…."

"Well, maybe not to _you_," snapped Lily.  "After all, the only time you ever spoke to her was to hit on her or make crude comments about Snape…"

From that point on, the conversation idled away from its exciting climax and onto memory lane, as conversations always seemed to do when the marauders were all together these days.  It was easier, that way….  The mystery of Snape's past lingered in each of their minds, however.  Only one person in that room knew the truth, but he was declined to say anything.  After all, best to let them all formulate their own ideas….

***

            By the end of the day, Severus was sore, irritable, tired, hungry, and _not_ in the mood to socialize with anyone.  That is, he was his usual self, only with a few added bumps and bruises.  He also knew that he hated teaching, hated James Potter, hated James Potter's friends, hated James Potter's wife, hated James Potter's son, hated eating in the dungeons, and hated James Potter.  And hated James Potter.  And _hated_ James Potter….

            He didn't even bother going to the staff room that evening; he'd learned his lesson about that twice already today and had no intention of repeating the experience.  He'd try again tomorrow, he thought, or as soon as he could be sure that Potter's gang had gone.  

            As for now, despite Charity's moans of protest, he ordered a house elf from the kitchens to bring them dinner.  Severus graded papers, his marks getting less and less cordial with every paper passed, as he ate.  Charity sat across from him on the other side of his desk, occasionally glaring at him and stabbing her plate with her fork rather harder than necessary.  Part of him felt guilty, making her stay here with him when she was so unhappy…. The other part of him shot back that he was far more unhappy than she could ever be, that he was doing his best, that all in all he was doing this for her own good, that she'd get used to it eventually, and that they were in this together.  They always had been.

            It was half past eleven when he finished marking papers.  A lone, shriveled candle sputtered on his desk, its glutinous rivers of wax spilling over the edge of its holder and pooling on the dark wood of his desk.  Its dim yellow light was just enough to see by, though very inconsistent.  Severus sighed exhaustedly, marking a final zero with a flourish and dropping his quill back into its inkwell.  Glancing up, he realized that Charity was still curled up in the chair opposite him, her left arm flopping lifelessly over the chair's.  

Trying to ignore the headache that pounded rhythmically inside his skull, he stood.  He shuffled his papers into somewhat organized piles, walked around to the other side of his desk, and lifted Charity from her chair.  She murmured sleepily, waking up just enough to hang onto him as he carried her to her bed.

He set her in her bed, pulling the covers up over her.  She appeared to be asleep again.  As he reached the doorway, however, a small, sleepy voice sighed behind him.

"Why d'you hate him so much?"

He turned around.  "Who?" he said, though he knew perfectly well the answer.

"Pot-Pot-ter" she yawned, wriggling into a sitting position underneath her heavy blankets.  "He doesn't really ever do anything to you, and I think he's a lot like you."

"We're nothing alike," Severus snapped a little too forcefully.  Charity looked slightly hurt.  He sighed, backtracking to sit at the end of her bed.  "We've known each other for a long time, Potter and I.  We're from two different worlds.  He's—" Severus thought for a moment, trying to ignore the first word that popped up inside his head:  'happy.'  "He comes from a different sort of…of background from me, do you understand?"

"So?" said Charity.

"He's one of those people who everybody likes," Severus went on, tracing designs on the blankets with his index finger, not bothering to disguise the resentment in his tone.  "_Perfect_."

"Everybody would like you, too," Charity said timidly, wiggling her foot under the blankets by his arm as if to comfort him.  "If you didn't act the way you do around people."

He snorted.  "Sorry Char, but I think you're wrong there," he said, laughing hollowly.  "It might be hard for you to understand just yet, but I'm not like most people.  People don't _like_ me."

"I like you," she said simply, smiling as if she had just solved all his problems with this pronouncement.  The funny thing was, for that moment, she had.  Severus smiled back at her, glancing up.  A true smile—a rare occurrence, coming from him.  It felt awkward on his face.

"Thanks," he said, trying to sound sarcastic, though he truly meant it.  "I like you too.  I think I might keep you."

"Shut up," she said, stifling another yawn.  He stood again, bending down to kiss her lightly on the forehead.  She looked confusedly up at him; her brother's gestures of affection were few and far between, although she knew deep down that he loved her.

"Do you want me to hate him?" she murmured, her voice muffled once more by her pillow as he turned to leave the room.  He froze.  Did he want her to hate Potter?

She was the only person he cared about.  Did he want her to hate his mortal enemy?  To be on his side no matter what?  It seemed plausible.  It seemed a reasonable request.  There was always the chance that she would wake up one morning and realize that she was stuck with Mr. Greasy Bastard, while Mr. Glorious strutted the warmer corridors outside their doors and up a few floors.  It twisted his gut, to think of it.  It made him uneasy, possessive, angry, even.  It made him…like his father.  He was struck with the sudden desire to turn Charity into himself, to make her bitter, antisocial, forever inadequate.  He would be sure never to lose her.  She would never leave his side; she would _need_ him, his approval….

"No," he said quickly, in an almost panic-stricken voice.  "No.  Don't hate anyone unless you--want to.  Do you want to hate him?"

He turned to ask her again, only to find her asleep.  He halfway considered waking her up again, to make sure she had heard his answer.  He stopped himself, however, terrified that his second answer might be different from his first.  He fled from her room before he could make a mistake.

_My God,_ he thought.  _What am I doing to her?  'Do you want me to hate him, Severus?'  My God…_

_NO, CHARITY!_  He wanted to scream.  _Don't hate him!  Don't hate anyone!  Don't be like me…_

And at the same time, he wanted to whisper softly into her ear:  _You'll never be in the same league as someone like Potter.  Hate him, Charity.  It's your only hope.  Hate them all.  Just don't hate me…_

He didn't even notice when his forearm spasmed with pain the first time.  When it happened the second time, he was almost relieved.  A distraction.

He strode to his room and put on his cloak.  It felt smooth and cool against him.  Comforting.  He pulled a small jar out of a drawer in his desk; a jar with a tiny etching of a skull and snake on its rim.  He reached in and pinched a bit of powder between his fingers.  Sealed the jar; put it in his pocket.  Back to his room again, where he lit a fire in the as of yet unused grate with his wand.  Apparation would no longer work, so this was to be his new method of transportation to his Master's side.  He scattered the powder into the flames, and they burned brighter—a vivid blue.  He stepped into them, his voice crackling along with the flames as he shouted:  "_MORSEMORDRE!_"  

He was whisked from his new home, and into the arms of his family.

***

            The same house—the same room—as last time.  Thick dust lay upon the floor in feathers, whisking up as Severus stepped out of the roaring fire in the grate and into the room.  He blinked in surprise, looking around him.  There was no one there.

            He couldn't have been first.  He hadn't responded to the first bout of pain upon his arm.  He felt a sense of foreboding.  The floo powder wouldn't have worked if he had been mistaken of the Call….

            "Severus," a voice whispered from the shadows.  Severus jerked only very slightly, turning around to face the only dark corner he hadn't glanced into.  His Master stepped forward, his face shrouded and distorted by the flickering light of the fire.  He was alone.  "A private meeting," Lord Voldemort continued, recognizing his confusion.  "In the wake of a larger one.  You and I have important matters to discuss."

            "Yes, my Lord," said Severus, falling to his knees and pressing his lips to the familiar hem of his Master's robes.  He vaguely wondered what this 'larger meeting' had been about.  He was just considering asking when Lord Voldemort once again interpreted his thoughts.

            "An important event is to happen tonight," said Voldemort, a trace of suppressed excitement quivering in his high voice.  "We will finally overcome a fundamental hindrance….  The dementors will rejoin us.  But this does not involve you.  The lower ranks will complete the raid.  We are well on the road to conquest.  _You_ will lead us there."

            Severus felt pride well up in him; his heart began to beat wildly in apprehension.  All petty thoughts of tiredness, soreness, and irritableness fled his mind.  _He_ would lead them!  And yet he still felt unsettled about something.  Nervous…doubtful…fearful…?  He waited.

            "Time will allow Hogwarts to fall into my hands; its corrosion has already begun.  In time only the faithful will remain…the faithful to the so-called sage, Albus Dumbledore.  But their numbers are insufficient, and he knows that.  They all know that.  But there is one who still stands in my way, who is fated to blunder in my path, blocking my way to clear victory."

            The Dark Lord was building up suspense.  Severus's mind was racing.  Dumbledore.  Severus would be told to trick Dumbledore, to slowly and inconspicuously ensure that the school was at its weakest when Voldemort chose fit to strike.  He waited with bated breath, but his Master simply stood there, enjoying his advantage, the soft light dancing on his misanthropic features.  Finally Severus could bear the silence no longer.

            "…My Lord?"

            Lord Voldemort smiled diabolically.

            "You will deliver me James Potter."

            Severus blinked.  He had not heard correctly.  Such a notion was absurd.  It took him a few moments to register that he had not heard incorrectly.  Then it took him only a second to realize that all his efforts, all his expectations for himself, everything he'd put himself through in this cursed past week had been for the sake of someone as inconsequential and witless as _Potter_.  _Bang!_ went Severus's stomach through the floor.  He almost cried out in indignant shock.  Potter?  _Potter?_

            "Potter, my Lord?" Severus said, trying not to sound insolent.  "I would have thought….Dumbledore…."

            "Yes, you would have thought," said Voldemort in a quiet, dangerous tone.  "They would all have thought…. But conveniently, Potter will deliver Dumbledore to us indirectly.  The old man's fondness for the boy is notorious."

            Had Severus not been entirely thunderstruck, he would have snorted.  _I'll say…._

            "It is crucial that I have extinguished the Potter line before I dominate," the Dark Lord continued secretively.  "I cannot conquer with the threat of that fool weighing upon my head.  He and his progeny _must_ be executed before I take control of our world.  I will take no chances."

            Severus was distracted.  'He and his progeny…extinguished….'  A sudden, unbidden vision of a fat baby with pudding sliding down his face had jumped in front of his mind's eye.  The baby was laughing, the mother was clucking…and the father was advancing upon Severus like a wild animal, armed with fists and naivety.  What use were they?  What threat were they?  They were cliché; they were the perfect family.  They were everything Severus had longed for and despised his entire life.  What did they have to do with anything?  

And then an even worse image swam across his mind:  A young boy, unconscious, a trickle of dried blood on his upper lip; he was surrounded by sterile white; he was twitching, whimpering…._ What in God's name possessed you to do such a thing?  …Look at him, Severus!  Look at him and see the full debauchery you have committed!_

_Look at all the pain you've caused!_

            "But—my Lord—_why?_"

            It slipped before he could stop himself.  Potter?  Of all people, of all people in the entire world, why Potter?  Why did it have to be _Potter_?  And…the child, too…?

            "You question me?"  The voice was so low, so soft, so threatening, and yet Severus failed to heed its warning.  He was lost inside the confusing din of his own head.  Images tangled around each other, emotions muddled his sensibility….  An old thought crossed his mind:  _Revenge?  For what?  For saving my life…._

            Kill him?  The Dark Lord was asking Severus to deliver him his mortal enemy.  Heroic, noble, selfless James Potter would finally be gone from Severus's life forever, nevermore to taunt him with perfection.  The last fragment of his past could be forgotten; he could cleanse his world, finally, of these memories.  

It should have been a privilege.  It should have been an honor.  It should have excited him.  It should have.  But why, _why_ wouldn't the image of that pudding-clad baby leave his mind?  And _why now_ was he suddenly thinking of Charity, her eggs gurgling placidly on her plate….

            "But I can't do that…."

            Those words were the worst mistake he had ever made in his entire life.

            "You _what?_"

            And yet, he was given another chance.

            "I _can't_…."

            _Goddamn you, you imbecilic boy…!_

            "_CRUCIO!_"

            Pain.  Endless.  Memories.  Endless.  Ten years passed in the time of pain, swathed in a disguise of ten seconds.  Visions of his past swimming in his tear-filled eyes, voiced in his hollow, deafening screams.  He writhed, he struggled, he cried.  He remembered.

            A million white-hot flames licked his bare skin, sending him into an oblivion of blinding light.  Waves of torture cascaded from head to toe, shredding him.  Reminding him.

            Mother.

            Razor blades.

            Getting beaten to a bloody pulp by Daddy.

            Charity.

            Father.

            Blood.

            Pain.

            Acceptance.

            Betrayal.

            He'd forgotten them all.  He'd forgotten his family, his friends, and his childhood…. It wasn't fair!  He'd put them away!  They were _gone!_  He didn't want them anymore!  He didn't want any of it!  He tried to clutch onto the unending pain, to use it as a distraction, or an outlet, but it was no use.  The pain seemed to resurface all the neurotic memories he had strived so long to scab over.

            _Oh, GODS, it won't stop, it won't ever stop, please make the memories stop, please let me die, please let me pass out, please let me die, please just let me go…  Please, I'll do anything, anything, anything…_

            "_ANYTHING!_"

            The sudden freedom was deafening.  Sobs wracked in his chest, gurgling in his bloodied throat.  How long had it been?  It was so quiet….

            Severus forced his eyes to roll forward onto his Master, whose lips were pressed together in a hard, cynical line of triumph.

            "Anything," Lord Voldemort reminded him quietly.  "You will do anything for redemption.  Your time is ticking fast, Snape, and I have been too benign with you.  You know that, don't you?"

            "Y-yes…."

            "You owe me your life, your innocence, your _freedom_."

            "Yes."

            "You took an oath, you remember?"

            "Yes," he sobbed.

            "My priorities above your own.  I am your Master."

            "I know."

            "You know.  And you will do as I say?"

            "Always."

            "Very good.  You will spy on Potter.  You will take note of his plans, of his weaknesses, of his whereabouts.  You will deliver him to me, and you will be redeemed."

            "Yes, my Lord."

            "Go.  You have learned a valuable lesson tonight.  I will Call you again soon.  Get out of my sight."

            Somehow, he managed to struggle to his feet.  Using all his remaining strength, Severus staggered to the fire, pulled the jar from his pocket, sprinkled the powder into the flames, and weakly called out:  "_Finite…Morse…Mordre."_

            Too weakly.  He had used the wrong incantation, had been mixed up.  He would be lucky to be anywhere within the vicinity of Hogwarts.

He was lucky.  He collapsed out of a primitive stone fireplace, and in a glance, realized he was in the gamekeeper's hut.  Thankfully for him, the sounds of drunken singing could be heard from _outside_.  With a strength he didn't know he possessed, Severus pulled up his hood and ran from the hut, each step like another knife stabbed into his spine.  Shrouded by his cloak in the night, he made his excruciating way back to the castle.

***

            The room was silent for several moments after the young man departed.  The fire flickered, ribbons of blue still tonguing through the flames as the last remnants of the floo powder burned away.  The dark man standing alone in the center of the room held out his arm, and gestured slowly.

Another man was called from the shadows, where he had been hidden throughout the entire 'private' meeting.  He slowly, almost disbelievingly, strode toward his Master.  He bent and kissed the hem, waiting.

            "I had hoped to be wrong about him, but my suspicions have only been more cemented tonight.  He is unbalanced, inconsistent.  I can no longer trust him."

            "No, my Lord."

            There was a long, immensely weighty pause.

            "As incompetent as I fear you are, you are my last resort."

            "I thank you, my Lord."

            "_If_ his loyalty fails, you will report to me."

            "Yes, Master."

            "Watch him.  Closely."

            "I will."

***

CATASTROPHE AT AZKABAN FORTRESS

_Associated Press._

  
  


           The two human guards stationed at the formidable Fortress of Azkaban Prison on Monday night witnessed a horror that will live on in the memories of the wizarding world long into the future.  As the Ministry awaited its nightly 'all is well at twelve o'clock' owl from the Fortress that night, several flashes of light were reported seen over the Atlantic horizon.  Muggles living on the western coasts of Europe have excused the flashes to be the highly charged lightning of an untracked tropical storm.  They could not be further from the truth.  At two o'clock in the morning, a delayed owl reached the Ministry bearing an ominous message in hasty script:  "Incursion at half past twelve…Defenses failed…Troops in black have invaded the Prison…Dementors marching in ranks…Surrender imminent."

          Ministry Aurors were sent immediately to the site, appalled at the scene of ruin they confronted.

           "Rubbish everywhere," recalls a shaken Sirius Black, newest member of the Ministry's highly acknowledged team of Aurors.  "Twisted metal bars strewn about, small fires burning…. They try to prepare you for this sort of stuff in training, but it was more than I'd ever imagined.  It wasn't just the state of the place, either.  It was totally deserted.  Not a soul in sight…no dementors, no prisoners, no nothing.  Just an empty, blackened pit and two bodies.  God knows what's become of them all."

           It was Black's first ever mission as an Auror.  Pale and shaking, he adds one more thing before hastily wrapping up our interview:  "I pray to God I never have to set foot in that place again."

           Sylvester Prang and Jonathon Quintley were pronounced dead at four o'clock Tuesday morning.  The Ministry sends its condolences to the Prang and Quintley families; your loved ones died with honor.

  


.   


	11. The Hopeless

"Fatigued with life, yet loth to part,

On hope the wretch relies;

And every blow that sinks the heart

Bids the deluder rise.

Hope, like the taper's gleamy light,

Adorns the wretch's way;

And still, as darker grows the night,

Emits a brighter ray." 

_-Oliver Goldsmith, "The Captivity"_

MEANWHILE, AT HOGWARTS… 

_An indistinct shape.  Blurry…upside-down.  A familiar voice, but wracked with sobs.  And then screaming—_screeching_—into the dark; she was being suffocated, crushed, drowned, obliterated….  Then it stopped.  Red, red eyes.  Bloodshot, blood-lusting, rapturous red eyes, boring… so fiery, and yet so, so cold.  A hand touching her cheek, sucking all the warmth out of her so that her only blanket was the sticky, copper-smelling substance that was slowly soaking her through.  Drowning her._

_            She cried for help, for Mama, for God, for death, for _anything_.  She was tossed aside.  Left to stare into the dark, crying, drowning, sticking to herself and the soft, sultry pad beneath her.  There was no love left in this room for her.  No comfort._

_            Low murmurs rumbled through her body.  She did not understand them, but they terrified her.  They were not like Mama's voice.  Mama's voice was gone forever._

_            The room began to smother her; she wanted out, _out!_  She struggled, and she screamed, but it was no use.  She was stuck to the blankets, paralyzed by infantry, forced to witness everything.  A shockwave jolted through the room, and now someone screamed with her, agonized._

_            And then…empty.  Nothing left.  She cried not for Mama, God, or death—but to rid the room of this rank silence, this paralyzing void…._

***

Charity jerked her eyelids open with a cry.  For one terrified moment she thought she was blind, the room was so dark—but then she realized she could make out the sheer green draperies around her bed, shifting ever so slightly in a draft.

            Her bed felt so big, so hard, so cold.  Why was it so dark?  Was it normally this dark at night?  She couldn't move under her heavy velvet blankets; she was pinned, trapped under them, her tiny arms and legs struggling against them like she was drowning, or buried alive…

            She screamed as loud as she could, her shrill voice echoing uselessly within walls of stone.  She beat and kicked out at her blankets, writhing, squeaking, mustering up all her strength and panic to free herself from their trap.  She rolled off the side of her bed, hitting the floor with a thud. Her knees knocked hollowly against the unforgiving stone, skin scraped away. She curled up against the wall, feeling her stinging, sticky knees.  The feel and smell of blood wafted up from them, panicking her as the echoes of her own gasping sobs surrounded her, magnified tenfold.

            Where was Severus?  Why wasn't he here?  She needed him, she _needed_ him!  Couldn't he hear her crying?  _Where was he?_!

            Sobbing and petrified, Charity fell on all fours and began to crawl toward the dark shape of her doorway.

***

            It took James awhile to realize why he was awake.  He yawned, stretching slightly under the sheets, and reached for his wand on the table beside his bed.  He pointed it at the ceiling, muttered a spell, and it cast a circular image of light upon the ceiling, with shadows for tick-marks and hands.  It was three in the morning, and James was suddenly aware that he needed to go to the lavatory.

            He set his wand back on the table and sat up, groaning slightly.  He glanced over at Lily, who was sleeping peacefully, curled close to his side.  Smiling, he lightly pulled one of her dark red curls and watched it spring back over her face.  The crib in the corner held their son; the sounds of contented, deep breaths of a sleeping baby drifted across the room.

            James slid sideways out of bed, careful not to wake his wife.  He grabbed his dressing gown, which was crumpled on the floor by his feet, and cinched it around him.  Before he turned to go, he grabbed up his wand again, slipping it under the belt of his dressing gown.  The stone under his bare feet was cold and dusty as he made his way across the corridor to his private lavatory.

            When he had completed his business, James wandered back out into the corridor.  Lethargic and half asleep, he hardly acknowledged the small snuffling sound coming from somewhere around his ankles.  That is, until his right shin hit the source of this snuffling, which then emitted a sharp cry, and he pitched headfirst onto the floor.  Now the snuffler was positively bawling.

            "What the hell—!" James exclaimed in shock.  He was lying on his stomach, his legs still entangled with whomever he had tripped over.  His right hand scrabbled along the floor for his wand, which had fallen from his dressing gown and was rolling away from him along the corridor.  When he had found it and pulled himself into a sitting position on the floor, he raised it.

            "_Lumos!_" James hissed into the dark.

            The silvery light from his wand fell upon the terrified face of a small girl.  It took James a moment to register that it was none other than Snape's little sister.  Her frizzled black curls fell all over her stark face, which was smeared with tears.  Her lip was bleeding, presumably from his tripping over her.  As she shriveled away from him, squinting in the light, James noticed that her palms were rubbed raw, with grit stuck in them, as if she had been crawling for quite some time.  Her knees were also bleeding and dirty, and she was barefoot.  All in all, she was a pitiful sight.

            "Hey," breathed James cautiously, as if approaching some wild, cornered beast.  "_Heeey_."

            He thought for a moment, too bewildered to say anything else.  Her crying had stopped, and she simply stared at him in terror.

            "Calm down, sweetheart," he coaxed softly, reaching out a hand to her.  "Calm down, okay?  I'm not going to…hurt you…"

            She did not recoil from his hand, as he expected her to.  Rather, as his hand cupped her cheek in a gesture of comfort, her tiny body shuddered involuntarily.  He drew back his hand instantly, shocked.  Her round eyes stared wetly into his, tears streaming silently down her cheeks.

            "What are you doing all the way up here?"  James asked her gently, pushing himself to his feet and squatting before her.  "Where's your brother?"

            "I—d-don't—know!" Charity gasped, her eyes widening further still.  "I—woke up—had a n-nightmare—he was g-gone, and I don't—know where he—went—!"

            She was sobbing again.  Suddenly, James was furious.  Snape had just up and left her?  In the middle of the night?  What the hell was _wrong_ with the bastard?  

            "Shhh," whispered James.  "You're going to be just fine.  I'm going to take you back down to the—to where you and your brother stay, okay?  I'll stay there with you until he gets back.  D'sat sound okay?"

            She nodded, wiping her face with the back of her hand.  James was struck with a sudden thought.

            "Can you wait here just a minute?"  He asked her.  "I'll be _right back_.  I'm just going right in there—" he pointed to the door just a few feet to his left.  "—for a minute.  _Don't go anywhere._"

            Charity nodded again, and James ran back into his room.  He was fully awake now, breathing quickly, and he threw his trunk open, digging around in it until he found a roll of old parchment.

            "James?" muttered Lily thickly from the bed.

            "Go back to sleep," he hissed over his shoulder, smoothing the parchment out on the floor and muttering a spell so that a dim light filled the room.  "I'll talk to you in the morning.  Go back to sleep, don't worry.  I'll be back later."

            She didn't respond.

            James placed the tip of his wand on the parchment and whispered to it:  "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good…"

            The familiar map scrawled out from the tip of his wand, and upon scanning it he discovered that his suspicions had been confirmed; there was only one miniscule dot labeled with the name Snape, and it was lurking right outside in the corridor.  _Severus_ Snape was not anywhere on the Hogwarts grounds.

            In an even angrier satisfaction, James muttered "mischief managed!" to the map, threw it back into the trunk, and ran back out into the corridor.  The little girl still stood there in the shadows, sniffling to herself.

            He knelt down before her, and she looked up at him, her eyes full of sorrowful trust.  She held her arms out expectantly.  James blinked quizzically at her for a moment before he finally understood.

            "Do you want me to carry you?" he asked her gently.  She nodded again, promptly putting her arms around his neck as if it were a frequent procedure.  Unfamiliar with the weight and girth of a five-year-old girl, James awkwardly circled his arms around her, under her bottom, and lifted her.  She helped him, hooking her ankles at the small of his back and laying her head on his shoulder.

            He began to walk toward the dungeons, his heart breaking for the tragic little girl in his arms whose caretaker seemed to be as cruel to his kin as he was to everyone else.  James was determined to wait with Charity in Snape's office until the bastard walked in the door.  He wanted Snape to see the poor thing, how neglected she was!  No child deserved to be abused this way.

            The journey to the dungeons was slow, and James muttered soft comforts to Charity as he walked.  She was silent now, neither crying nor sniffing.  Perhaps she, like James himself, was simply waiting.

            "Almost there," he whispered as they turned into the dank corridor where the entrance to Snape's rooms was.  In the dim light of a single torch lit at the end of the corridor, James could see that the ebony door to Snape's office was wide open, the silver handle glinting.  He set Charity down at the doorway, pulling his wand out to light just one candle on the desk.  She followed him inside, keeping close to him as if something horrible lurked in the shadows, waiting to pounce on her.

            "Will you sit with me?" she said in a tiny voice, her left hand tugging a handful of his dressing gown by his knee.  The light from the candle flickered in her eyes as James smiled at her.

            "Of course," he said, moving to sit in the leather chair behind Snape's desk.  He lifted her up onto his lap, and she leaned back against him, closing her eyes.

            For the next few minutes, James watched her fall asleep, wondering how Snape could bear to treat her in such a way.  It would be like--like leaving Harry all alone in his crib for a day, with no one there to talk to him, play with him, feed him….  The thought made James ache inside, and so he tried to put it away.  He just kept the image of the terrified, glassy eyes of a little girl, pleading with him through the dark, so forlorn and so lost….  He kept that image alive in his head, fueling his resolve.

            He waited.

***

            Severus stumbled down the corridor, focusing wholly on just putting one foot in front of the other… just twelve more steps…just ten more steps…just six more steps…oh _gods_ it hurt…just three more steps….

            He fell against his door as he twisted the handle, realizing too late that it was not latched.  He fell with an unforgiving momentum into his office, crashing face first to the cold stone floor.

            "_Aah_," Severus rasped painfully, breathing raggedly and trying to struggle back to his feet.  His legs just wouldn't function properly; they seemed to be made of gelatin, with a will of their own.  Just when he had won a useable amount of control over his limbs, and he was about to rise from a squat to a stand, light abruptly filled the room.  It was blinding and painful to Severus's bloodshot eyes and he fell back to the floor most ungracefully, throwing his hand up to shield himself against the light.

            "Well, well, well," sang a bitter voice somewhere above him.  "Bit late for a school night, isn't it?"

            "Wha—who—?"  He squinted up through his fingers toward the voice, and as his eyes adjusted to the light he registered a humanlike figure standing over him.  It grew a mop of extremely messy black hair that seemed to be fresh from the pillow, then a black dressing gown materialized on it, and with a final blink the complete and infuriating form of James Potter stood unwelcome in his office.  Severus froze, his eyes widening in horror behind his hand.

            "_You_—" he croaked, pushing himself (finally) off of the floor to face Potter.

            "Me," Potter said in an annoyingly melodramatic tone.  "And would you like to know why?"

            "No," said Severus curtly.  He was too out of it to care; he could face Potter in the morning, face his inquisitions and whatever else he had in store for Severus…_just not now_.  He just wanted to go to sleep…for consciousness to cease at last….  "Get out of my office."

            He turned and stumbled toward the door into his bedchamber.

            "No you don't!" hissed Potter, grabbing Severus by the arm and shoving him against the wall beside the door.  "You listen to me.  Look over at your desk chair."

            Too limp to fight back and too stubborn to let the pain of his weathered body being slammed against a wall show, Severus slowly, lethargically, peered over his assailant's shoulder toward his desk.  

His heart stopped.

            Charity was curled up in his leather desk chair, asleep.  Her face was dirty, pale, and tearstained.  Her lower lip and chin seemed to be stained with dried blood.  Her hair was wildly strewn about her.  Her knees were scabbed….

            A sudden alertness and impossible strength surged through Severus, and he tried to push Potter aside…. But unfortunately even that strength was not enough.  Potter slammed him ferociously against the wall once more, his face twisted in a very unbecoming grimace.   

            "You _sick_ _bastard_!" he spat into Severus's face.  Severus belied himself and flinched.  "You're supposed to be her caretaker?  _You?_  How can you just leave her here like this!?  How can you—"

            "GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY!" Severus suddenly exploded.  Over Potter's shoulder, Charity jerked awake, blinking.  Severus gave up on muscular strength and let himself fall against Potter.  It worked—Potter stumbled backward, and Severus dropped painfully to the floor and scrambled on his hands and knees toward Charity.

            Charity burst into tears, recoiling from him.

            "Charity," Severus gasped, "Oh my God, what—!"

            "YOU, THAT'S WHAT!" Potter bellowed, grabbing Severus by the shoulder once more and throwing him backward onto the floor, away from Charity.  "YOU LEFT HER HERE WITH NO ONE!  SHE WAS TERRIFIED!  She wandered all the way up to MY ROOMS before I found her!!!"

            "You don't even know what you're talking about," Severus shrieked at him in denial.  "Get out of here!  GET OUT!  GET—"

            Potter lunged forward, striking Severus hard on the side of the head.  The back of his head hit the floor with a crack, and there was a moment's blackness before the room materialized again.  He flinched, his body automatically curling up in helpless self-defense:  a stance he hadn't had to use in a very long time.  But no more blows fell.

            "NO!" Charity was screaming.  "Don't hurt him!  Don't hurt him!  Please, please don't hurt him!"

            Potter was standing back, breathing heavily, staring inscrutably at the scene before him.  Severus blinked, realizing that the screaming was coming from right on top of him; Charity had thrown herself from the chair onto his chest.  A dry sob escaped his throat, and his arms came up around her.  She buried her face in his chest, her tiny body wracking with violent sobs.

            "Shhh," Severus begged her, though coaxing himself more than his sister.  "Shhh.…  It's alright…."

            Potter stood there, watching in horror.

            "_Get out_," Severus growled venomously, glaring up at him.  Potter's face was dangerously set.

            "Dumbledore will hear about this," he panted, pointing vaguely at him.  "I know what you're doing.  I know…. Dumbledore will hear…."

            "_Get.  Out._"

            "She doesn't deserve this… She doesn't…_you_ don't deserve _her!_"

            "_GET OUT!_"

            "Fine," Potter snapped.  "But mark my words:  you'll pay for this.  You'll pay for _all_ of it in the end!"

            He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

            A long, aching silence followed.  Charity still cried softly into his robes, clinging to him as though he was her only buoy in an endlessly deep sea.  They lay on the floor together, Severus staring sightlessly up at the dungeon ceiling, his left hand resting gently on the back of her matted head, trying desperately not to think.

            Razor blades…

            He shook his head furiously, tears blinding him.  _NO._

            Charity…

            _A fifteen-year-old girl sat next to him, talking sense into him, the only sense he'd had in his entire, miserable life.  She didn't even know him, but she_ knew_ him.  And she cared._  NO!

            _"No matter how hard things get," she said, "there's always a way through them."_

            _Yeah, right,_ Severus screamed back at her from the future.  _You lied to me!  You stupid, lying, infuriating wench!  You humiliated me, you conspired against me, you tricked me!  You forgot everything!  You left me!  You tricked me!  You made me believe you cared!  You used me!  You…died for me._

The silent tears made their way out of his eyes and quite suddenly weren't silent anymore.  Fighting it as hard as he could, he began to sob, the motion of which tore his aching body from the inside out.

            _No, no, no, no, no…  She was a liar.  She was using me.  She never cared._  Severus grappled furiously against the madness of it all, scrabbling desperately for a logical handhold.He_ is the only one who ever cared!  He took me in, he took care of me!  He…tortured me?_

Charity was sobbing louder now too, and instead of clutching at his chest she was beating at it, squealing words he couldn't decipher into his tear-soaked robes.  He only held her tighter, grateful for the beating.

            Red eyes or brown?  Memories or redemption?  Death or Death Eater?  Everything or nothing?  Love or hate?  Trust or deception?  Lies or truth?  Delusion or reality?  Friend or foe?  Compassion of an enemy or spite of a benefactor?  So many things claiming to be his salvation, vying for his attention.  He was swirling blindly in a dark, confusing whirlpool.  Everything he'd ever known, everything he'd ever made for himself was slipping, falling, crumbling… And he'd been so preoccupied, so desperate for deliverance, that he'd failed to notice the only salvation left for him in this world.

            And he had made her cry.

            "_Just like my dreams!_" she was screaming, her pale face blotched with angry pink, her tiny fists beating, pounding against him.  "The blood!  I can smell it!  You smell like it!  I'm so scared, I hate you!  I hate you!  Why?  Why?  _Why?_"

            _If she were only a little bit bigger_, Severus's heart cried out, _she'd probably kill me.  And I'd let her._  His father's mangled face flashed before his eyes, and his own seventeen-year-old voice cried out to him:  _WHY?_

He gasped, choking on his own tears and on memories sharper than the glint of a razor, and grabbed both of Charity's fists, holding them inside his own.  He sat up, wrapping his arms around her so tightly that she couldn't move, sobbing into her hair, shaking her.

            _Just don't hate me…_

            "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, please forgive me, I'm so sorry, please don't hate me, don't hate me, I love you, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I love you…."

            He wondered if he'd ever said that phrase to her before, and it made him hate himself all the more.  He repeated it several times in a pleading, weakening voice that eventually trailed off into nothingness.  "_I love you…_" he whispered shakily, almost unintelligibly, into her hair.

            "I love you?" she echoed faintly, incredulously.  She was rubbing her face against his robes, wiping her tears away, clinging to him again.  "You love me?  I love you."

_Love or hate?_

***

            Severus sat, stony faced, in front of a grave-looking Albus Dumbledore, and an irate-looking James Potter who lurked in the corner behind the old man's desk.  It reminded him of getting in fights with Potter as a first year.  Pettigrew ran to tell a professor, and they always ended up in just this position:  James Potter waiting for proper judgment to be passed, his arms crossed and his face screwed up; Dumbledore sitting behind that desk, trying to look grave but with an almost amused twinkle in his eyes; and Severus, sitting on the other side of the desk like the juvenile he was, anger coursing through him, keeping his face as passive as was humanly possible.  There was only one difference:  Dumbledore's eyes held no twinkle this morning.

            "Where is she?"  asked Dumbledore softly, his voice devoid of emotion.

            "She's asleep," Severus said quickly, his tone bordering on defensive.  "She had a…a long night last night.  She's sleeping."

            "And you left her there again?  Alone?"  James Potter hissed from his vulture-like stance in the corner.

            "_SHE'S ASLEEP!_" Severus snarled with such unexpected force that Potter took a startled step back.

            "She was asleep the last time you left her alone, too," Potter muttered lowly.

            "Both of you, that's enough," Dumbledore snapped, making the situation even more reminiscent of their school days.  "Severus, James has told me his version of what happened last night.  I have no reason not to trust him, but I would be pleased to hear your explanation."

            Severus sat in silence, his mind desperately churning, thinking up lies that had too many plot-holes in them.  Potter made a derisive noise of triumph from the corner.

            "I told you, Albus," he said, his lip curling.  "I told you we shouldn't trust him…"

            "James," Dumbledore snapped quickly.  "Go back to your rooms.  I want to have a word with Severus alone.  I will talk with you later," he added at the scandalized look on Potter's face.  "I will, of course, tell him of your offer."

            Hesitantly, Potter strode to the door.  He cast one final glare back at Severus before he departed.

            "Offer?"  Severus said instantly, the moment the door had latched, seizing this perfect opportunity to avoid explanation.

            "Yes," said Dumbledore.  He paused a moment to steeple his fingers and observe Severus cautiously.  "The Potters have offered to take guardianship of your sister Charity for the remainder of the term."

            The moment following this statement required more self-restraint than Severus had ever had to use in his life.  It took all his control not to overturn his chair and start swearing.  He settled himself by growling:  "_What?_"

              Dumbledore repeated himself exactly, which only infuriated Severus all the more.

            "_What do you mean, 'take guardianship' of her?_" Severus said slowly, breathing heavily through his large nose.  His fingertips were tingling, his whole body tensed surreally as Dumbledore continued.

            "She would live with Lily and James until the end of the school year.  You would still see her frequently, I'm sure, as Lily and Harry stay with James at least two days out of every week, and weekends…. And when she visited Hogwarts, she would stay in their room at night—"

            "_ABSOLUTELY NOT!_" Severus snarled, losing his self-control after all and standing abruptly, his chair crashing to the floorboards behind him.

            "And what is your reason, Severus?" Dumbledore said, rising to his feet as his eyes flashed dangerously.  "You think, perhaps, that she will not be taken care of properly?  You think that James would do something to hurt her out of spite for _you_?"

            "I will NOT have _Potter_ taking my sister—"  Severus stopped short, unsure how to finish.  There was a pause.

            "—Away from you?" Dumbledore said slowly.  "So, Severus.  Is it pride?  Ownership?"

            "_Ownership?_" Severus growled defensively.  "How dare you—"

            "Try and think past your schoolboy grudges, Severus," said Dumbledore loudly, cutting him off.  "Try and think past your own maimed dignity, and _put the child first_.  I told you once that Hogwarts was not safe for the likes of a five-year-old, no less a frequently unsupervised one, no less at _night._  Do you really think that you, Severus, a young, irresponsible bachelor can care for a five-year-old girl by yourself?  In a place like this?"

            '_What right do you have in my personal business?_" Severus hissed, forgetting his teetering reputation in a surge of anger.  "What authority are _you_, to tell me how to run_ my life?  _How to care for_ my own sister?_"

            "You are right," said Dumbledore flatly.  "I am no authority in these matters.  I am merely asking you to question yourself.  How much do you love Charity?"

            The question stung Severus like a slap in the face.

            "_Enough_," he growled, his eyes widening.  "Enough to take care of her."

            "You love her enough to keep her to yourself; that is no challenge.  I am asking you if you love her enough to do what is best for her."

            "I—"  Severus choked on his own words.  He stared at Dumbledore in terror for a moment, then finished bleakly:  "I _am_ doing what is best for her.  To stay…with me."

            "To stay with you," repeated Dumbledore tonelessly, his eyes closed in a sad grimace.  "To stay here with you.  That is what you deem best for her?"

            "Yes.  No."  Severus took a deep breath.  "Yes, I mean.  Perhaps you are right about...about Hogwarts.  Not being safe."

            Dumbledore waited expressionlessly for him to continue.

            "She has been safe all her life with me at the manor," Severus said quickly, a plan good enough to appease the Headmaster boiling within his skull.  "I will move back to the manor with her and portkey here for my classes," he finished in an almost frantic tone.  _Please, please let it work…_

            "It is your decision, Severus," said Dumbledore, sitting down again as though relenting.  "I will not take responsibility for your life."  He looked up, staring Severus levelly in the eye.  "I suppose a person's actions are reminiscent of their upbringing."

            If Severus had had just a faction less self-control, he would have struck the old man.  His whole body stiffened at the deeper insinuation, the unspoken accusation ringing in his paranoid head.  _Like father, like son._

            "But know this, Severus," the old man continued, his blue eyes sharp on their subject.  "I have offered you a hand.  I have offered you assistance.  You have refused, and therefore you take full responsibility for your actions.  Whatever happens….  Whatever consequences arise from this are entirely _your own fault_."

            A small chill raced up Severus's spine at the old man's abstractness and at the dark look in the blue eyes that bored into his own insolent, ebony glare.  Severus stared dutifully back at him and replied slowly, in a voice of pure silk.

            "I thank you for your understanding, Headmaster."

            As he emerged from behind the stone gargoyle, Severus thought to himself that no matter what happened, he would _never_ turn to Dumbledore in crisis.  He would never confess.  He couldn't bear to give the Headmaster—or Potter—the satisfaction of it.  

At the moment, his hate for both of them was undermined only by his hate for himself.

***

            "What did he say?" James asked the moment his office door opened.  Albus said nothing, closing the door behind him and seating himself opposite James.

            "I knew it," James said bitterly, throwing his quill back into its inkwell so that a bit of ink splattered out onto his desk.  "I knew it!  He doesn't even care about her, he just doesn't want to admit that _we'd_ take better care of her than he—"

            Albus raised a hand, and James broke off.  "He may give in eventually, James," said Albus doubtfully.  He gazed thoughtfully at the new ink stain on James's desk for a moment.  "I cannot put my finger on it," he muttered quietly after a moment, shaking his head.  He looked up at James, his expression perplexed.  "There has always been something about him, something that will not allow me to give up hope for him…."

            James snorted derisively, but Albus ignored him.

            "He was never like the others—Malfoy, Macnair—He was always…set apart from them, somehow."

            "He was antisocial," said James bluntly, ruffling the papers he had been pretending to grade.  "He set himself apart from _everyone_, Slytherins included."

            "Precisely," said Albus.  James stared incredulously at him.  "He _set himself_ apart.  Unlike the usual Slytherin tactics… He never seemed interested in 'making the right connections' or making alliances within his House.  At least not until his seventh year…"

            James shook his head, smiling wryly.  "He wasn't interested in making _any_ connections, I'm telling you—"

            "He made one."

            "Meisner," James said cautiously, wondering if the Headmaster knew more about the situation than the Marauders did.  There was silence for a moment as Albus carefully traced the swirls in the dark wood of James's desk with a long, thin finger.

            "Yes," he said finally, very quietly.  Then he looked up at James.  "There was one thing that made him different from the rest, though.  The rest of them never…never felt guilt.  If there is one thing about Snape I do know, it is that he feels guilty about many things in his life."

            "I should hope so," muttered James darkly.  Albus shook his head.

            "Other things," he said vaguely, with a wave of his hand.  "He hides things.  I have no doubt there are very dark secrets that he has been keeping for years, festering inside him… things that the others wouldn't have given a passing thought… as pitiful and bleak as he may seem, I believe there is hope for him yet."

            "I don't understand you," said James irritably.  "You _know_ he's a Death Eater!  He has to be!  And he's stupid enough to think he's fooled you… He's a terrible teacher, the kids _hate_ him, he treats his own sister like—"  James shook his head again, uncomfortable with the prospect of using profanities in the presence of his former teacher.  "He _lies_…constantly!  And you sit there and pretend to be convinced…you, you _give_ him outs so he doesn't have to explain himself…and you still say 'there is hope for him yet?!'"

            "Yes, I do," said Albus simply.

            "_Why_?"

            There was a long pause, during which Albus gazed sadly at James.  The old man sighed heavily.

            "I must believe that there is some good left in the world, James.  If there is not, then how can we survive?  If I cannot open the eyes of the Ministry, and there are so few I can count on to fight against the Dark, even among parents and loved ones of victims…. Where am I to turn?  The guilt-ridden, the frightened, the _hopeless_ are the only ones left who have a chance of turning….  If I can provide a haven to those, then we might stand a chance.  Do you understand?"

            James stared at him, eyes wide. 

            "Are you telling me," he said in a very soft, quivering voice, "that all we have left to hope for—our only hope—is _Snape_?"

            Albus bowed his head, but did not answer.

            There was a terrible silence.  James stared up at the ceiling, his heart pounding furiously.  A wave of panic was swelling inside of him as the reality of the threats against them slapped him in the face.  He felt the bile rise at the back of his throat as he remembered the events of the night before… Snape, dressed in black, bloodied, and totally impenitent… the little girl who was somehow twisted into loving him, and yet being so mistreated…  This?  This was the hope of the world?  People like—

            A long-ago image flashed before his eyes of his own hand, roughly grabbing the shoulder of the boy in front of him, his own voice screaming, "RUN!"  The snarling, howling, bloodthirsty noises of his best friend at his heels… Running flat out, straight back to the castle, to the Entrance Hall, collapsing against the wall in breathless panic… Looking up to see wide black eyes glinting at him through the dark, just staring, unblinking…  Asking if the boy was hurt, and getting the startling, hurtful response of:  "_Stay the hell away from me!  Keep your freakish, mutant friend away from me!  You sick, you twisted, you, you…  I hope you burn in_—"

            Guilt-ridden?  Potentially.  Frightened?  Probably.  Hopeless…?  Only precious, invaluable time would tell.

James was just about to speak, to perhaps express some of his fears or questions to Albus, when a school owl soared through the window carrying his morning _Prophet_ in its beak.  The owl swooped past, the paper landing with a slap upon wood.

            The front-page headline blared up at him from the desk.  James grabbed the paper, scanning the article.  A thick blanket seemed to fall over his ears and eyes, a sense so ominously still that his heart skipped a beat in dread.

            "Oh my God," he whispered.

***

            A dreadfully exhausted looking young man walked slowly down the brightly lit corridor, his usually swaggering gait lacking.  There were dark, sagging hemispheres beneath his eyes, eyes that seemed to be sucking in light rather than reflecting it with smiling confidence, as per usual.  He walked unevenly, as if some hidden ailment caused him pain.  His normally glossy black hair hung matted around his pale face.  He seemed to be close to his destination, as he kept his tired eyes focused on a door only meters away.

            When the man was a few steps away, the door burst suddenly open.

            "Sirius!  Oh Jesus…"

            Sirius embraced James gratefully, his fingers clutching the robes at the small of his best friend's back, clinging to the comfort of his worry.  It had been a long night, and James's was the first friendly face he had seen in more than twelve terrible hours.

            "Hey," he said flatly, as the other man finally released him, gripping him on the shoulder and peering into his eyes.  "Thanks, mate."  He managed a weak smile.

            "I read the article this morning in the paper—Forget it, come in, I have some tea…"

            "Yeah," said Sirius wearily, and followed James into his room.  "Damn _Prophet_.  That idiot Diggle was supposed to be guarding the entrances, but just as we're getting into the thick of things I turn around—and lo and behold, three reporters are standing there, quills a-ready."

            "Three?  How did the _Daily Prophet_ find out so fast?"

            "Beats me, but they were there not even two hours after we arrived.  I told them to leave…there was this aggravating blonde woman who was relentless.  Wouldn't quit following me and getting in my way until I gave her an interview."

            James poured Sirius a cup of tea as he fell back onto James's unmade bed.  He continued, his voice muffled as he rubbed his eyes.  "They actually tried to take a picture of the place, can you believe it?  The nerve of people…  Don't know why the Ministry puts up with them; they're so worried about freaking people out, but the _Prophet_ will stop at nothing until they've done just that…"

            "They didn't accomplish much," said James, watching him as he downed his scalding tea in two gulps.  "The report didn't really say anything, just said that Azkaban had been broken into, quoted you, and added a nice, tacky afterthought naming the two guards that were killed.  Talk about freaking people out…  'There are hundreds of dementors and convicted murderers loose, we don't know where, and we're not going to bother telling you what happened… just thought you ought to know…'"

            Sirius set his teacup down with a clink, shaking his head.  "Imbeciles," he muttered darkly.  "They make a mockery of everything that's been happening."

            "So it was Voldemort."  said James in a slightly hushed voice.

            "Of course it was!" Sirius snapped.  "'Troops in black…'  They've been planning that for ages, I know it!  The Ministry won't _do_ anything, they won't even admit that it was Voldemort.  We owled them on the spot last night with the results of our inspection, and they owled back this morning to say 'there's not enough evidence to prove it.'  _Who else_ has the manpower to do something like that?  No, not manpower, the, the…" he searched for a word.  "The _impulse_, even?  Only Death Eaters could organize something so massive, right under the noses of the Ministry, without getting caught."  He sighed in frustration, grimacing.  "_Why are we so blind?_"

            They sat in brooding silence for a few moments, sipping tea.  James was struggling internally, desperate to burst out:  'Snape was gone last night,' and launch into the story of what had happened.  But whether it was the fact that Sirius looked as though his temper shouldn't be tested at the current moment, or…something else…for some reason, James said nothing.  Personally, James was sure that Snape had been part of this massive organization, had perhaps even been a ringleader.  He wanted to discuss it with Sirius, see what he thought, but a heavy question mark danced naked in his subconscious, and he couldn't bring himself to damn it either way.  _Hopeless?_

At learning this information James knew that Sirius would take immediate action in requesting permission to arrest Snape.  It was an opportunity he would never pass up, should it arise.  It pained him to keep such a thing from his best friend, but Albus's worried, tired blue eyes kept staring into his mind's.  It was ignoring a basic instinct not to 'turn Snape in,' but it was something that James felt should be postponed, at least for the present.  

            Sirius stayed with him that night, claiming it would be pointless to go home and settle in when he would surely be called out early in the morning—or maybe even the middle of the night.  But James suspected that Sirius would rather do anything than face the concept of a night in solitude at home with only his troubled mind for company.  Either way, James heard his friend tossing and turning restlessly the whole night through, for he slept fitfully himself.

            Too much was happening in the world, and too quickly.  The entire population of a prison didn't just disappear without a trace.  Where were they?  Where was Voldemort keeping them?  What was he using them for?  He felt a terrible silence descending upon the world, like the utter silence before lightning strikes its mark.  The stormclouds were gathering, and they were casting their dark shadow directly over Hogwarts itself.

            The time for last resorts had come, James thought anxiously to himself.  The time for only hopes.  As much as the prospect terrified him, he knew where his next step would lead him.  The answer didn't lie with Dumbledore anymore.  It lay with Snape.  In the moment before sleep overtook him at last, James resolved to confront Snape once and for all, traumatic memories set aside.  

He _must_ act soon…before it was too late.

***

            As dawn's silvery light crept up the walls in James's room, a small tapping sound could be heard at the window.  Both men were deeply asleep—Sirius, sprawling his entire lanky form over the surface of the entire bed, was snoring contentedly, mouth slightly open.  James was resignedly curled up on the floor with a blanket he had ungraciously pulled off of his friend in the middle of the night and a pillow he had pried from under Sirius's arm.  The tapping grew louder.

            Sirius grunted, rolling over so that his face was in his pillow.  Still, the tapping persisted, and he rolled over once more in sleep, flinging his arm fitfully over the side of the bed.  There was a dull _thunk_ as his sleeping knuckles collided sharply with his friend's face.

            "EURGH!" James bellowed, bolting straight up and rubbing the bridge of his nose.  He glared at Sirius's ever-unconscious form, then glanced over at the window.  A Ministry owl was loudly rapping its beak against the glass, and it had a yellow roll of parchment in its talons.

            "Get up," James said sharply, roughly jerking the pillow out from under his friend's face.  "You nearly broke my nose, you know!"

            Sirius slowly rose to a sitting position, blinking dumbly in the morning light.  "Did I?" He said, yawning widely.  "Sorry about 'at…"  He rubbed his eyes vigorously as James strode to the window and pushed it open.

            "You've got an owl," he stated, trying to take the roll of parchment from the bird.  It screeched at him as though he had violated it, and soared dutifully over to Sirius, who groaned.

            "I knew it," he grumbled, unrolling the parchment as the owl flew past James back out into the cloudless sky.  "All I want is just one morning to sleep…"

            James watched him sluggishly get to his feet, scratching the back of his head.  "Why didn't you tell me to shower last night?" Sirius said, curling his lip at the feel of his matted hair.

            James shrugged.  "Didn't think it would be tactful…"

            "Do I smell tactful to you?" Sirius scowled, pulling on the robes he had discarded over his pajamas.  "Ah well, that'll be my self-defense when Crouch yells at me for giving the _Prophet_ an interview.  I'll just raise my arms and he'll cower in fear."

            "That's charming, Padfoot," grinned James.  "I'll walk you to the entrance hall," he added as they strode to the door.  "I'll tell you one thing; that was the worst sleep I've had in ages.  You pushed me off the bed, stole my pillow, and talked to yourself all night.  See if I ever sleep with _you_ again."

            This last remark turned out to be quite an unfortunate one, as it left his lips just as they stepped out into the corridor…which Snape was passing through.  He stopped short, raising an eyebrow at them.  He seemed about to sneer, but then reconsidered, his eyes flashing darkly, and he passed silently on.

            "That was weird," Sirius muttered.  "Even _I_ would have taken advantage of that."

            James shook his head, watching Snape as he disappeared around the corner, heading toward the dungeons.  Something cold and unpleasant splashed in his stomach, countered by something hot and angry erupting in his chest as he realized that Charity was presumably alone in the dungeons again.

            James gripped Sirius on the shoulder when they had reached the entrance hall.  "Good luck," he said, trying to smile encouragingly in the face of his friend's obvious dread.

            "Thanks," said Sirius with weak smile, opening the door.  He stepped into the sunshine, letting the door swing shut behind him.  Three and a half seconds later, the door opened again, and Sirius shouted to James's retreating back.  "Oi, whose carriage is that?  Not for me, is it?" He added hopefully, not looking forward to a long trek to the edge of Hogwarts grounds.

            "I don't think so…" James walked to the door, staring out.

            A dark carriage with tinted glass was waiting about a hundred feet away from the entrance.  There appeared to be no one inside it.  However, as James watched, a disgruntled house elf hopped out of the carriage, dusting off its nimble hands and peering at the doors as if in expectation.

Unbidden, two things entered his mind at once:  the image of Snape, uncharacteristically biting his tongue and passing by them with no more than a dark look; and the words of Albus from only a few hours ago:  "_He plans to move her back home, and to commute back and forth for classes._"Snape, James suddenly noted, had been traveling toward the entrance hall from this direction (a route that would have been totally unnecessary if he had been coming from the staff room).  He had been empty handed, but as James watched the house elf lean against the carriage, breathing shallowly, he was quite sure Snape was in the process of toting luggage by magic.  

He nearly blurted this to Sirius, but stopped himself, saying merely:  "Oh, no, that's for someone else."  

            "Damn," said Sirius, snapping his fingers.  "Well, bye then!"

            He disappeared behind the swinging doors, leaving James to stare intently out at the waiting carriage.  Snape had barely been here a week, James thought.  He had only been here long enough to spark conflict, which was not unexpected of him.  What disturbed James was his…compliance.  Not only was he leaving; he was leaving in a hurry.  What was he running from?  Or Whom?

            In an impulsive and consciously rash act, James planted himself by the entrance, determined to wait for Snape.  This could well be his last chance to speak with his archenemy, to confront him once and for all.  For _all_, James realized with a shiver.  This could well be the Light's last hope.

            After perhaps fifteen anxious minutes of waiting, something outside caught James's eye.  Another carriage was trundling toward the castle.  This one was a rather rickety-looking horseless carriage, rocking as though it were arthritic with age.  James let out a surprised puff of air in recognition.  He appeared to be receiving an impromptu visit from Remus.

            _Now?_ he cried inside.  _Of all times, Moony…_ The carriage swayed to a halt, and out stepped not only Remus, but Peter as well.  James wondered whether he could somehow shake them off in order to talk to Snape, or if he could possibly trust them not to tell Sirius. Remus, being more rational and perhaps more understanding on the whole would most certainly keep his silence.  But Peter… well, James couldn't be sure that Peter wouldn't accidentally blab to Sirius, causing a nasty conflict between the infamous Padfoot and Prongs.

            Just as his two friends were approaching the doors, James heard prowling footsteps echoing from the corridor he had originally come down.  He had no choice.  He had moments—seconds, really—to explain to Remus and Peter his intentions before Snape was in their midst.

            "Hey, James," Peter began as they entered the castle, "We saw the paper this morning and I convinced Moony we should come for a visit.  I thought Sirius might be—" but he was silenced with a violent gesture from James.  Looking intently at Remus, James hissed:  "Look, Snape is leaving here in about three seconds and I really need to talk to him.  I can explain later," he added frantically as Peter made to interject.  "Go—"

            James had been just about to tell them to go somewhere out of the way—even just down the corridor, where he knew they would eavesdrop—but before he could, Snape was upon them.

            The lanky man sidled into the entrance hall, obviously trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.  Though the three of them stared blatantly at him, he kept his head down and avoided their eyes.  He seemed to have collected the last of his luggage, and was carrying only one small bag.  Once again, a panting Charity was struggling along behind him to his rapid pace.  There was without question something terribly ominous about his behavior this morning.

            James waited a few seconds after the doors had swung shut behind Snape's prowling form, stiffening his resolve.

            "Wait here," he hissed to Peter and Remus.  

_Now or never,_ he thought to himself, and hurried after Snape.

***

            Severus held his breath for five seconds after the doors shut behind him, as he positively fled to the waiting carriage.  When he finally let it out, it was in a huffed:  "Here!" which he snapped at the house elf as he threw the small bag at it.  He paid no notice to its somewhat disgruntled squeak, focusing wholly on not looking back over his shoulder.

            "Get in, Charity," he said, though he picked her up and set her inside before she could acquiesce.  _Three, two, one…_ Severus heaved a sigh of relief, placing his foot on the step into the carriage.  "_Thank—_"

            "Snape!" a voice bellowed behind him.

            "—_Jesus,_" he groaned.  Pretending not to hear, he tried to heave himself into the carriage.  Unfortunately his shoulder was grabbed from behind, and he hurtled backward, just barely managing to steady himself by gripping his nemesis's arms.  His nemesis who, surprisingly enough, grabbed Severus to help keep him from overbalancing.

            "What?" he snarled in disgust with himself, wrenching himself free of Potter's grasp.

            "Potter?" Charity's voice quivered inquisitively from inside the carriage.  In a fit of panic, Severus slammed the door shut.

            "I'm taking her home," he hissed into Potter's face.  "If you're obtuse enough to even _think_—"

            "Come off it," Potter snapped irritably.  "What you do with her is your business.  I was just trying to offer a safer…"

            Severus felt his temple twitch.

            "Never mind," Potter said quickly.  He paused, looking strangely nervous.  "I want to talk to you about something else."

            Severus felt his stomach tighten.  Something else… _I know what you're doing!_ Potter's eyes seemed to scream at him.  _You'll pay for all of it in the end._  "What?" he said again in his most menacing growl.

            Potter took a deep breath, and then—

            "You're a Death Eater," He said softly, his voice a low, steady rumble.

            Something stabbed Severus's diaphragm so suddenly that he had to choke for air.  He opened his mouth to snap back some witty denial, but none came.  The shock of such bluntness had paralyzed him.  _This is entirely the wrong place to be incriminated_, Severus thought numbly to himself.  The sun was pouring down on them as they stood beneath the magnificent structure of Hogwarts castle; a pleasant, early-fall breeze was winding its way around them, blowing Severus's hair.  One would expect such an exclamation to be delivered in the dark, in the eerie silence, with a knife at the throat, perhaps…

            "You were with Voldemort last night," Potter continued in what seemed a harshly casual tone for such a situation.  "You were at Azkaban, murdering those guards, freeing those prisoners… weren't you?"

            "I—no!" Severus exclaimed in realization.  He _didn't_ go to Azkaban last night, did he?  "I wasn't—"

            "Don't lie," Potter said in a formidably calm tone.  "I saw the front page of the _Prophet_ this morning.  Didn't you?"

"No, I didn't," Severus snapped, his breath coming back to him.  "As I was being interrogated in the Headmaster's office for the first part of the morning, and for the second part I was preparing to leave."

"In a hurry, are you?" Potter's eyes flickered.

"Yes.  In a hurry," Severus said vaguely, fumbling with his left hand for the door handle at the small of his back.  Potter slapped his hand against the glass in front of Severus's face, leaning against the door.  "You're a Death Eater," he hissed again, boring him with an intense sort of eye-contact.  He continued to stare deeply into Severus's eyes with an alarmingly unreadable expression, as if waiting for some response, some facial twitch, to give him away.

"You didn't deny it," Potter whispered incredulously, after a crushing pause.   

Severus stared at him for another moment, feeling desperation rise to a peak inside him.  His hand still clenched the carriage's door handle convulsively, the skin on his knuckles translucent.  He felt his breathing quicken, his eyes widen.  Compassion of an enemy or spite of a benefactor?  Lies or truth?  Swirling blindly… Slipping…Crumbling…  His heart was beating in panicked accompaniment to his insane wish for it all to cease… To _cease_…

"I didn't, did I?" he whispered, almost inaudibly, at last.  The moment seemed to hang in the air between Potter and himself, and then Potter took a step back, blinking in astonishment.

            Taking this chance at escape, Severus flung open the carriage door, hoisted himself inside, and slammed it shut again.  He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat and emitting a small, shaky sigh.  It would all be over soon, he thought fearfully.

            The carriage started forward, and he felt Charity lurch into him; but still he dared not open his eyes. 

            He had lost his advantage at last.  He had spent all these years protecting himself, preserving himself, rebuilding himself; his ambition had gripped him like a vice, pulling him above and beyond all others.  And now?  He had practically _offered _Potter the upper hand.  In that fleeting moment of weakness he had betrayed his Lord, his life, and himself.  And somehow, while fear lingered in the blue of his knuckles and searing pain between his lungs, the most overbearing emotion he felt was relief.  His life was surely drawing to a close. 

It was only a matter of time.

***

            James watched with a slack jaw as the carriage swayed away from him toward the gates.  He felt the blood drain away from his face.  What did it mean?  "_His first priority is himself_," Albus had said once.  "_No matter whom he serves._"  And yet Snape had just delivered himself, dropped his fate into the hands of his enemies with no harassment whatsoever besides the blunt and unproven accusation:  "You're a Death Eater."

            He had fully expected Snape to reel off an impressive, intricate lie—a well-planned alibi that had been recited before a mirror, even.  But never would he have expected to see the flicker of fear in those black eyes, the sudden blanching of the already pale face, the stuttering from a tongue like a razor.

            Was Snape hopeless?  Perhaps, James thought suddenly, perhaps that was the key after all.  Not that there was any hope left for Snape's character, but that he had no hope left for _himself_.  James could still see the whites of Snape's eyes, ringing all round his ebony irises as he had stared at James.  And James knew…

            Suddenly breathless, he ran top speed back up the steps of the castle, back into the entrance hall.  A very perplexed looking Remus and Peter were waiting for him there, but before Peter could even open his mouth to speak again, James burst out:

            "He's a Death Eater, he's just admitted it!"

            Remus's jaw dropped in shock.  "_What?_" he choked out.  "He…he just _told_ you that…?"

            "No!  Well, yes I mean—I just told him he was, and he didn't deny it.  And then I said: 'you didn't deny it,' and he said:  'no, I didn't!'"

            Remus's eyes widened.  "That's not right, James.  That's not…he wouldn't _do_ that.  It's like turning himself in—"

            "You don't think he would?" said Peter quietly.  As James looked at him, he registered the strangely closed expression on his friend's face as he stared out the window, watching the dark spot of Snape's carriage disappear beyond the gates.

            "We need to tell Dumbledore," said Remus brusquely.  "Immediately."

            "Yeah," James agreed, and started walking briskly down the corridor that held the entrance to Dumbledore's office.

            Lingering behind for just a moment, Peter continued to stare out the window in the entrance hall.  He absently massaged his left forearm, the beginnings of a smirk creeping onto his face.

            Forcing it away, he slowly turned to follow the echoes of his friends' footsteps down the corridor.      


	12. Parting

The sallow, guilt-stricken face swam listlessly across the shining white surface of the cloudy substance.  Framed by greasy black, he was a stark contrast to the contents of a pensieve.  Somehow unfitting to its purity.

Albus sighed heavily, drawing the tip of his wand from his temple, a new strand of memory clinging to it.  As he did so a different voice came charging through his head:  "…and you still say 'there is hope for him yet!?'"

"I do," he whispered out loud, swirling the tip of his wand in the basin, and the shifty face of Severus Snape swirled neatly into the determined, wholesome face of James Potter.  "If it was only that easy—"

He jerked out of his reverie by the sound of feverish knocking upon his door.  Hastily he rose, replaced his pensieve in its cupboard, and hurried to open the door.  There stood James and Remus, wide-eyed and panting, expressions startlingly reminiscent of the times they had visited his office as students.  Albus could hear the soft sounds of more footfalls approaching them from the shadows of the spiral staircase.

"Come in," he said heavily, and stood back to allow them entrance.  As they took their seats, Peter Pettigrew also scurried inside, perhaps a little more out of breath than the other two, and seated himself next to James in a chair that had materialized out of thin air only seconds previously.

"Albus," said James earnestly as Albus walked slowly to the other side of his desk, staring intently down at the wood.  "I've just spoken to Snape."

"I see," said Albus, seating himself opposite the three young men.

"He admitted it to me, being a Death Eater," James continued breathlessly, his fingers drumming impatiently against his knees.  "Just now, outside!  He may as well have blurted out:  'I work for Voldemort,' Albus!  I followed him out to his carriage—cornered him," added James with an ill-disguised hint of pride.  "And I said I knew he was a Death Eater, and he didn't deny it, and then I said, 'you didn't deny it,' and he said 'no, I didn't…'"  He trailed off, staring fixedly at Albus. 

Still, the old man did not reply.  He felt a repressing sense of déjà vu, as though he had replayed this scene multiple times within his head in anticipation.  It was as though he knew exactly what would be said, what would be asked, as though he had been working out how to answer, how to reassure and alienate James in the same breath, for a hundred years...  

Now the moment was here it merely felt heavy and stale.  James was staring at him with a forceful, almost indignant gaze, as if he couldn't fathom how Albus could take such a startling bit of news without so much as looking up at him.  Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew sat on either side of him, and the emotional support (though Minerva might refer to it as 'egging on') flowing from both of them was palpable.  Remus, calm and subdued, as always.  And Peter—  

Albus was struck by the sudden impression of the stout young man sitting there and had to blink.  It wasn't uncommon for James to approach a dilemma such as this with an escort of two.  It was, however, extremely uncommon that the man sitting on his right hand side should be anyone other than Sirius Black.

"If you wouldn't object to a minor change of subject, James, where is Sirius?"

At this James's demeanor became decidedly uncomfortable.  He shifted in his seat, crossing his arms.  "I didn't think he'd…  Well I didn't really want to…  I mean, you know how he is about Snape,' he concluded lamely, tracing a small circle on the left arm of his chair with his right index finger.  It was clear he felt guilty, as though he had betrayed his best friend by not sharing this important information with him.  In truth, Albus was quite surprised himself.  He could assume James's reasoning, however, and felt a small rush of pride at his unusual choice of sensibility over emotion. 

"You thought he might get carried away with his newfound Auror's responsibilities?" said Albus with a small smile.

James shrugged.  "He's got enough to worry about right now," he said quietly, his tone split between self-reassurance and a genuine concern for his best friend.  Remus reached over and gripped his shoulder briefly.

Several moments passed in silence, and Albus tapped the steeple of his fingers against his lips as he considered his options.  Remus was muttering something to James, who continued to look down at his hand.  Peter was staring at the edge of his desk, hardly blinking, as if waiting tensely for something to happen.  An uncanny impulse to order him out rushed through Albus's mind for half a second before it was pushed out of the way by more thoughts of Snape.  He dismissed this as evidence of the wear his nerves had been taking lately.

All the while that face swam in the forefront of his mind just as it had in his pensieve moments ago:  unhealthily thin and white, lank hair shadowing dark, mendacious eyes, and thin lips that could either be smiling or snarling without any distinguishing between the two.  Any sensible person would cast Severus Snape away without a second thought.  But Albus had never been considered an exactly sensible person.  And he knew things…  He knew things that Snape himself had never guessed he knew…

            Snape had fashioned himself a new composure, a rock hard, completely obscure disposition these days, but Albus remembered a boy who came back to school from every vacation covered in bruises, hobbling but trying to hide it by adopting a kind of predatory stroll that intimidated younger students.  Albus remembered a boy who had always been the victim, but viewed the world through the eyes of the oppressor.  Albus remembered a boy who came back from Christmas holiday and locked himself in the prefects' bathroom for eight hours with nothing but a razor...

            And most of all, Albus remembered the girl Minerva brought to his office the next morning, who begged him not to confront Snape.  '_It won't do any good if you try to talk to him…  Send him home and he's sure to do it again, and he'll refuse any help you try to give him,_' she had said.  '_Please sir, I'll look after him… Look, I talked to him all night long, trying to keep him awake, and I don't think he really wanted to do it._'  Albus could still hear her voice ringing earnestly in his head.  '_He just thought he didn't have any hope left._'

            She had offered him the hope of friendship, and he had ventured out of the shadows for two years.  And then she was gone, and Albus had watched helplessly as the boy fell into the clutches of pureblood aristocracy, of dark ambition, and of his father's wishes.

            Was it possible that Albus could offer him the same hope that Charity Meisner had given him?  Would he accept it?  He regretted now more than ever the mistakes he had made in anger on the eve of Severus Snape's graduation from Hogwarts:  sending the letter home to his father even when he knew what would come of it, even going so far as to question his deceased mother's love for him… Albus shook his head.

He sat quietly, staring over his younger colleague's head at the cupboard door in the distance.  Though the door was shut, a tiny crack of white light, like thread, shone mistily.  He could see, in the unfocused foreground of his vision, the three of them beginning to stare expectantly at him.   "Albus…" James said softly, his brown eyes wide and anxious.  "_What do you want me to do_?"

"You, James?" said Albus, fixing his eyes back upon the boy.  He chuckled softly, then reconsidered.  "Snape will be back on Monday to teach," Albus replied thoughtfully.  "Find him in the dungeons before he leaves, and tell him I wish to speak with him in my office.  Say no more than that, and tell him the password."

"You think he'll come?" asked James.  

Albus did not reply for a moment, trying to still the frenzied emotions and thoughts whirling about inside of him.  A light, shivering chirrup floated toward him, and in the corner of his eye he saw a flash of red as Fawkes ruffled his feathers.  A hushing sense of calm descended over him, and he found the stability to look back up at the three men awaiting his answer.  He looked steadily into James's deep brown eyes—eyes that begged him for reassurance even knowing it was in vain—and said:  "That is his decision.  We shall see."

James was not satisfied.  His lips thinned and his fingers gripped the arms of his chair as he leaned anxiously forward.  "But do _you_ think he'll come?" James nearly whispered, his eyes clamped on Albus's face, searching.

"To tell you the truth," Albus said as steadily as he could, "I cannot say.  It will be resolved, James, in some way or another," he added as a flicker of horror crossed the young man's face.  "Don't worry yourself—You are hardly involved in this matter, and for that you should feel grateful, not responsible."  The tiniest hint of bitterness slipped through into his tone with his last few words.  James apparently had not detected it, as he sighed softly and nodded his head in acceptance.  

James needn't worry himself.  James was hardly involved.  James was not _responsible_ for the well being of anyone but himself and his family.  

Albus was responsible for the rest of the world.

***

            "C-can I…have s-s-slippers now…please?"

            "No, Charity, it's not time for breakfast yet."

            "But I…I see the-the sunshine—"

            "That's not sunshine, it's my wand.  See?  I set it over there on the table.  And besides, there aren't any windows in here."

            "Can we g-go look out the w-wind—"

            "Let's just stay right here for now, Charity."

            It was a quarter past four in the morning, and Charity had had another nightmare.  Severus realized, with a rush of guilt, that he was relieved for the excuse to stop attempting sleep.

            His mind had not let him alone since he had closed the carriage door.  Its subconscious instinct was to thoroughly analyze the sources of stress in his life as a means of finding either reassurance or a solution, but tonight he found that all it got him was a confirmation of hopelessness.  There was nothing for it but to wait.

            And so he was.

            He was sitting on Charity's bed with her in his lap, his arms around her middle and his face in her matted hair.  Her tiny fingers clutched at his forearms, as if to reassure herself that he was really there.  Feeling guilty once more that he was receiving comfort in equal amounts as she, he closed his eyes and held his arms around her more tightly, just treasuring what were surely the last moments of calm and quiet in his life.

            They were back at the Snape manor, and Severus was grateful now more than ever of the complete solitude of the place.  He would be spared any social interaction until Monday morning.  His stomach clenched unpleasantly at the prospect of his imminent confrontation with Potter.  He knew Potter would seek him out no matter what… Perhaps with a cohort of aurors at his back…His faithful sidekick, Black, probably…

            Severus could picture, with disgusting clarity, the triumphant look on Black's face as he unrolled a scroll bearing a warrant for the arrest of Severus Snape.  He would read aloud, in a booming voice so that all who passed in the corridors would hear, all the crimes which Severus had committed in the past five years.  He would smile widely as he announced that the Ministry couldn't bother to offer him a trial, as they had obvious proof in the form of a confession (of sorts), and that he would be sent straight to Azkaban to serve a life sentence.  Then he would shake his head jauntily, flicking his glossy hair out of his eyes, and say, 'take him.'  Potter would then casually mention that he had the Ministry's permission to take custody of Charity, that she had already been removed from the Snape mansion and taken to his house by Ministry officials.—

            "Ouch, Sev, you're squeezing m-me!"

            "What?  Oh, sorry…"  He slackened his grip on her immediately, as if electrocuted.  It was then that a wave of horror truly descended over him, releasing him from his numb state.  _Maybe they're right_, he snarled inwardly, his jaw clenching in fury.  _Maybe I'm not fit to raise her.  All I ever do is hurt her… What do I know about raising a kid?  It's not as if I've had a good role model to refer to when it comes to parenting…_

He thought for a moment about what he would do if he ever came across an issue with Charity that he didn't know how to address.  She was five now, but she wouldn't be five forever.  What would he do?  Would he ask himself, 'what would my mother do?'  

He snorted aloud.  _Good one,_ he thought.  _Though I don't think lying, cowering, and trying to run away would do me much good in my case, would it?_  Uninvited, another thought popped into his head from nowhere: 'what would my father do…?'

            A shock of terror ran all through his body.  How could he even think that?  He looked down, seeing his own long, spindly fingers looking so huge and muscular compared to the miniscule, chubby ones resting on his arms.  Silently he took one of Charity's hands and placed the palm against his own.  She looked up at him bemusedly, but he paid her no attention, his eyes widening as he registered that her entire hand, fingers splayed, didn't extend past the radius of his palm.

            What would his father do?

            He gave a small, shuddering gasp, letting her small hand drop.  A sudden blaze of rage filled him so that he shook with it.  He was suddenly so sickened by the mere thought of Senan Snape that it made him nauseated.  To think what his father would do to his own daughter, _his own daughter!_ if he was still alive made Severus feel, for the first time, entirely justified in murdering him.  In fact, it made him feel _glad…_

            He remembered vividly the night his mother had…left….  He remembered the frenetic gleam in his father's dark eyes, the crazy laughter, the panic that had filled him at the realization that this was no ordinary beating…  He could still feel the repeated ringing of his father's knuckles against his skull, against his chest, against his nose, against his back, against…

            _If anyone ever approached Charity that way_, Severus thought, _I'd kill them just the same way…I'd kill him all over again…_

            A different image flared into life within his head.  The image of this exact expression on a different countenance, of the mad shine of red irises, the wide smirk of a lipless mouth that hissed his name as though addressing him in Parseltongue—

            "SEVERUS!"  squealed Charity suddenly, and he jerked away from her, thinking with horror that he had perhaps been squeezing her too tightly again.  But to his surprise she was gripping his arms even more tightly, scrambling back against him, twisting around to hide her face in his chest…

            He looked up and realized with a jolt that the face that had just been occupying his thoughts was now staring at him from across the room, wearing the same horrible expression.

            "M-My Lord!" he choked in terror, automatically attempting to fall at the Dark Lord's feet.  He was impeded by Charity, who was screeching so loudly and flailing so violently against him that he had to grab the bedpost for support.

            Lord Voldemort chuckled softly.  "Still tending to the nursery, I see?" he sneered.  For a moment Severus thought the Dark Lord's laughter had echoed in the small room, but then he saw two cloaked and hooded figures step into the room after him, stopping on either side.  "My, but doesn't this remind you of our little chat just the other night?  The family resemblance is staggering, Severus…  I can't help but notice that both of you seem to adopt the same pitch when you shriek…"

            There was a shout of laughter once more from the Death Eaters flanking him.  His breathing was ragged now, his arms limp around the struggling Charity, who was acting for the life of her as if she was trying to burrow herself right into Severus's body and hide.  His eyes flicked from Voldemort to each of the two bulky Death Eaters (obviously Crabbe and Goyle), feeling a newfound surge of terror as he realized that both of them hand their wands out and pointed directly at him.

            "So surprised to see them, Severus?" said the Dark Lord, taking another step forward and leering even more widely.  "I would think someone of your intelligence would have realized you couldn't evade me for long…but no matter.  It is only a precaution… There needn't be any force used against you tonight if you cooperate…"

            "Cooperate?" Severus croaked, unconsciously tightening his hold on Charity.

            "You didn't think I would let your loyalty wane this far without retribution, did you?"  
            "My loyalty, Lord?" Severus asked, willing his voice to remain steady though his heart skipped a beat.  "My—my loyalty has never—would never—"

            "_Is that why you have deliberately failed me, Snape?_" Voldemort hissed, his face suddenly only inches from Severus's.  He stared into the Dark Lord's fierce gaze, feeling his own eyes widen.  "You have betrayed me!"

            "Never, my Lord!" Severus said, his voice rising in panic.

            "Do not lie!" Voldemort shouted, his high voice shaking with fury.  "Did you truly believe you could outwit me?  Did you think I would not know that you had betrayed me to, of all people, that mudblood-loving puppet of Albus Dumbledore's, _James Potter?_"

            Severus froze.

            "Yes," continued the Dark Lord, his voice dangerously soft.  "I know, Severus.  I always know.  And now, unluckily for you, _so does Dumbledore!_"

            Severus remained completely silent, hardly breathing, waiting for the fatal blow…

            Lord Voldemort took a step back, away from him, seeming to grow calmer in decisiveness.  "It is time for me to remind you to whom you are indebted," he said quietly.  "You owe me a life, Severus, and I shall not rest until it is given."

            _This is it,_ Severus thought with a thrill of foreboding.  _This is the end…_ He bowed his head, waiting patiently to be blinded by brilliant emerald—

            "Take her."

            And suddenly, taken by surprise, a kicking, screaming, biting Charity was being prised from his grasp.

            "_NO!_" he bellowed as Goyle pulled her away from him.  He tried to hold on but slid off the bed and onto the floor in his vain effort.  One of Charity's socks slid off in his hand as lost his grip on her ankles.  "Leave her be!What are you doing with her?!_  Leave her be!_"

            As she struggled in Goyle's arms, twisting and screaming for her brother, the Dark Lord bent low, speaking lowly to Severus:  "I knew she would come in useful," he whispered.

            Staring in horror past Voldemort, Severus was forced to witness Goyle deal Charity an unforgiving slap across the face as she bit into his arm.  He lurched instinctively toward her, screaming something incoherent and profane at Goyle, but was instantly thrown back against the bed by an Impediment curse from Crabbe.  As his head crashed against the bedpost he saw nothing but dazzling white light.  Blindly he scrambled to his knees, blinking as the room around him came back into focus. 

            "_S-S-SEVER-SEVERUS!_" Charity sobbed frantically, scrabbling against Goyle's burly forearms.

            "You owe me a life, boy!" Lord Voldemort repeated casually over her screams.  "It is your choice whose life you give!  Deliver me the Potters, or…"  he smiled thinly, reaching over to run a pale finger over Charity's tearstained cheek.  She froze instantly in Goyle's arms, her eyes widening in blind terror.  (Probably in memory…)

            "_PLEASE!_" Severus bellowed, shuffling forward on his knees and abandoning all pride.  "Kill me!  Take me!  Anything…but _please_—"

            "Anything?" Lord Voldemort repeated softly.  Severus stared at him in horror as a thin smile curled his Master's lipless mouth.  Severus heard his own voice mocking him from memory, crying out:  _Anything…!_

            "I have given you far more than your share of mercy already, boy," said Voldemort coldly, his smirk fading as he jerked his hand behind him in signal to Crabbe and Goyle.  "You do not _deserve_ to be put out of your misery yet."

            There were three loud pops, and very suddenly the room was deafeningly silent.  Severus found himself staring at the empty doorway opposite him.

            He was alone, crouched on his knees.  He had dragged the sheet off the bed with him and was now clutching it on either side of him, staring as blankly as he had that night five years ago and entertaining the exact same feeling of terrified emptiness.  Should he move, blink, break the void of silence in any way, the realization of what had just happened would come rushing in over his head, and he didn't know what he would do.

            His body sagged to the side, a strange paralysis consuming him.  He stared.

            He felt his eyes begin to dry as his unfocused gaze continued to linger on the desolate doorway before him.  And then he made the mistake of blinking.

            Suddenly his chest constricted, making him gasp for breath.  His hands convulsed on the bed sheet and he was dimly aware of a faint ripping sound as they wrenched it upward.  "No…" he heard his voice rasp.  "No._  No!_"

            Hyperventilating, he glanced down and saw Charity's small sock still clenched in his left fist along with a handful of sheet.  Dropping the sheet, he raised the sock to his eyes, holding it delicately between his thumb and forefinger as if it were made of the most fragile glass.

            She—she wasn't really gone, his fractured mind stuttered.  He hadn't truly lost her yet (he couldn't bear the thought).  The Dark Lord had said…deliver him the Potters.  Deliver him the Potters, and she would be all right.  She would be returned to him unharmed.  Unharmed…

            Severus wanted so terribly to cling to this, to think it was true, but he knew…deep down, he knew… It was as clear as the subtle scar on his wrist:  He had known men as desperate as the Dark Lord was now… He had known men who would do anything, _anything_, no matter how sick, no matter how wrong…  

            A horrible blackness seeped through his veins like death, blinded him, wrapped around him so tightly he knew he would never breathe again when he realized that Charity was as good as dead.  He would never see her again.  He would never hold her in his arms again.  A myriad of tiny memories came flooding back to him; things that had seemed so inconsequential, so _stupid_, he now realized were the things that had been holding him together for the past five years.  Now he could feel himself crumbling, melting, ripping at the seems and falling in a million tiny pieces to the floor, to blow away in a cold draft, to scatter aimlessly along the dark corridors of his manor where his memories would imprison him for all eternity… 

He could not look into her face and find a reason to carry on, because _he had lost her._

            _She could be with Potter right now,_ said a horrible voice in the back of his mind.  He couldn't help but notice that this voice, which seemed to penetrate his thoughts when he was frozen in despair, took on a tone terribly like the late Senan Snape._  Safe and sound, perhaps being rocked back to sleep by that self-righteous bastard—the one who offered to help you, as if you were incapable of taking care of her yourself…And obviously…_  

            It was at this moment that the voice of Albus Dumbledore rang through his head, drowning out that of his inner tormenter.

            '_How much do you love Charity?'_

            "ENOUGH!" Severus bellowed, dropping the sock and the sheet to clasp his head, as if he could block the old man's voice out.

            '_You love her enough to keep her to yourself; that is no challenge.  I am asking you if you love her enough to do what is best for her._'

            "SHUT UP!"  He slammed his fist into the post of Charity's bed, causing the wooden frame to emit a dangerous, rattling squeak.

            '_I have offered you a hand.  I have offered you assistance. You have refused, and therefore you take full responsibility for your actions. Whatever happens—_'

            "No more, no more," he moaned frantically, jumping to his feet.

            '_Whatever consequences arise from this are entirely—'_

"My fault," he whispered, looking down at his hands and seeing blood long ago washed away shining on them.  "She's gone…"

            Now Dumbledore had finished, his father's memory took one last stab:

            _And for that, you can blame yourself._

The next ten minutes were a violent blur.  He didn't feel the sharp pains he should have been feeling as he ripped down Charity's hangings, heaved on the posts of her bed until they splintered and broke loose, sending him flying backward, throwing her bedside table against the stone wall…He didn't feel anything at all.  He was jolted to his senses when a jagged splinter of wood from one of the bedposts the length and width of his index finger found its way into his palm, and blood began to drip off of his fingertips.  

He stood very still, staring at his hand and breathing heavily.  He ripped the splinter out in satisfaction, unflinching.  The end of it was razor sharp, darkened by his blood.  Seeing it seemed to relax him, and he lowered it to his wrist almost automatically, closing his eyes resignedly as he did so.

He felt the ragged tip of it against his skin, felt the blood from his palm seep from it onto his arm.  Behind his eyelids he saw himself making a vicious slash, saw blood spattering the floor…It would be so easy, ending it now…He pressed down slightly, feeling several small pinpricks as his skin was barely punctured.

'Sometimes you just have to keep trying, keep going, even when it seems pointless…Even when it feels like living one more day would be more painful than dying here and now…Just try and find some hope; there's always hope—'

There was a hollow clatter as the wood fell to the floor.  Severus opened his eyes, not to see his blood rushing from his body, but to wipe away three tiny beads of it from an already scarred wrist.

This was her child, not his.  And he couldn't—_wouldn't—_give up on her again.  His pride didn't matter anymore; his stupid pureblood ideals were worthless as he remembered her soothing voice, her beautiful face…

"I remember, Charity," he whispered, running his fingertip over the thin white scar.  "_I remember everything._"

***

By half past five, he was standing before the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office.  The castle was dark and silent, stippled with silvery shadows.  A wave of dread slid over him as he realized he had no idea what the password was.  He remembered his first staff meeting as though from two lifetimes ago (in actuality, only a week ago); he remembered standing in front of this gargoyle, saying the password Dumbledore had told him in his last letter—

"Fizzing Whizbee," Severus said tentatively...to no avail.  He snarled under his breath, feeling his hands begin to shake.  "Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans!_ Droobles Best Blowing gum, dammit!  CHOCOLATE FROGS!_" he bellowed, his voice echoing down the silent corridor.  Still the gargoyle remained tauntingly still.  Severus took three steps back, whipped out his wand, and recklessly yelled, "_REDUCTO!_"

The jet of light glanced off the gargoyle's folded arms and, as if it were a mirror, shot straight back at his chest.  He soared at least ten feet backward through the air and crashed into a suit of armor, causing it to fall over and burst apart; bits of steel and weaponry slid and rolled in all different directions, making a racket loud enough to wake the whole castle.

Severus cursed loudly.  His head was throbbing where the corner of a shield had struck him and there was a hollow ringing coming from somewhere within his skull.

"Severus?" said an astonished voice.  He looked up to see the stone gargoyle sliding easily shut behind Albus Dumbledore, who was wearing a long and extravagantly embroidered nightshirt and matching cap.  His expression looked concerned rather than angry, as Severus had expected.

"_Headmaster!_" Severus exclaimed, jumping to his feet and tripping slightly over a bit of mail as he started toward Dumbledore.  "I need to—"

He broke off, feeling suddenly confused.  He needed to what?  To confess would be pointless; the Dark Lord had already _told_ him Dumbledore knew…  He steeled himself, took a deep breath and muttered, "I need your help."

Dumbledore said nothing, but stared intently into his face for a long moment.  Then:

"Come with me," he said curtly.


	13. Into the Flames

"Peppermint Humbug," Dumbledore said grimly to the gargoyle, and a second later it had slid aside to reveal the torch-lit spiral staircase.  Severus silently followed Dumbledore up this staircase, the shadows seeming to mock him as they danced restlessly in the flickering light, and into his office, where he waited, with mounting hostility, as the old man walked unhurriedly to his desk chair and sat down.

"Sit down, Severus," he said calmly.

"They've taken her," Severus spat hoarsely, ignoring him.  "They've taken her, and I don't know what to do."

Dumbledore stared at him, looking taken aback.

"You already know I'm a Death Eater, I know you do!" Severus snarled, his entire body beginning to shudder from the floor up.  "Don't act surprised, don't act like you didn't know, don't act like you weren't expecting this!  They've taken her!  You probably knew, didn't you?" he suddenly hissed, slamming his hands down on Dumbledore's desk.  "Thought it would teach me my lesson, eh?  I deserve it, don't I?  All the horrible things I've done—I'm such an evil git, not like golden boy Potter, right?  This is my punishment—for torturing your poor, your precious Potter—"  

He convulsively swallowed, his ranting cut short of its own accord.

"Severus," said Dumbledore firmly, though he sounded tired rather than angry.  "Sit down, _please, and calm yourself."_

            Severus did so, if only because he didn't think his violently twitching knees could support him any longer.  He took a deep, shuddering breath, closing his eyes and letting his head drop backward, trying to restore some composure.

            "What happened?" asked Dumbledore calmly, his eyes set on Severus.

            "The Dark Lord said he knew I admitted being his Servant—that I betrayed him—and he took Charity," said Severus immediately, not opening his eyes, his tone dead.  

Dumbledore's eyes flashed.  "How did he find out?" he said sharply.

Severus mused for a moment; the thought hadn't yet crossed his mind.  He'd grown so used to the thought that the Dark Lord knew everything even before it ever happened, because he just _did…_and suddenly it came to him; the extra Death Eater whose name he hadn't known, who was kept secret from him…  Severus growled, furious with himself for his own naivety.

            "Someone was watching me," he hissed, gripping the arms of his chair, still staring hard at his knees.  "He had someone watching me!"

            "But who could have given him that information so quickly?" Dumbledore said earnestly, apparently to himself.  "It was a matter of mere hours…Unless…But no…"  Some kind of pain seemed to wash over him, making him cringe in his chair for a moment before looking again at Severus.

"Why have you come to me?" he said lowly, his eyes shadowed.

            There was a moment's heavy silence.

            "Because," said Severus at last, almost grunting with the effort of saying this, forcing himself to look up at Dumbledore, "you said that you would help me."

            Dumbledore closed his eyes for a long moment, and when he opened them he said in a sad voice, "What is it you expect me to do, Severus?  I cannot save her from the clutches of Lord Voldemort any better than you could."  He paused, then said as gently as he could:  "Do you truly believe she is still—"

"She's alive," said Severus quickly, his hands fisting in a sharp spasm, "She's still alive; the Dark Lord told me I owed him a life; he gave me a choice, so he hasn't—but I can't—"

            "A choice?" said Dumbledore sharply, his eyes boring into Severus's.  "What choice?"

            "I owe him a life," said Severus again, unconsciously running his index finger back and forth across the tender underside of his left wrist.  He spoke so softly that Dumbledore had to lean forward to hear him. "He'll kill Charity if I don't deliver him the Potters."

            Dumbledore went rigid in his chair.  "He knows…" said the old man quietly, his back bowing.

            "He _always knows_," Severus spat at his knees, disgusted to hear his voice crack again.  He hunched forward and covered his face with his hands, feeling a sensation of such vulnerability that he would not have been surprised to feel a knife suddenly plunged into his back

            Nothing was said for a long while, and Severus simply stayed as he was, grimacing into his hands and listening to the feinted snoring of the portraits surrounding them.  Then:

            "Did Lord Voldemort tell you what it is he wants with the Potters?" asked Dumbledore slowly.

            "No," said Severus bitterly.  "He never told me why, just expected me to get on with it, no questions asked.  All he ever said was he needed Potter dead, Potter and his—and his son, dead, before he could take over."

            "Of course," breathed Dumbledore, "Of course…he wants his path cleared for him, doesn't he?  _But how can he know?"_

            Severus was far too subdued to concern himself with the old man's secret mutterings.  Whatever the Dark Lord wanted with the Potters was none of his business anymore.  He considered himself free of the responsibility now he had confronted Dumbledore.  And even though he knew he was destined for a life sentence in Azkaban with the weight of so many deaths on his shoulders, he felt a strange relief at the thought of being put away.  He didn't have to repay death with death anymore; he didn't have to suffer under the guilt…In Azkaban he would be in pure and untainted misery, where he could finally be free of responsibility, confusion, and fear.  He could shut out reality; it would be just him and his worst memories, shut behind bars to wrestle until he breathed his last breath…

            He shuddered involuntarily.

            "Severus," Dumbledore said, fixing him with a searching stare.  "What I want to know is why you didn't do as Lord Voldemort said, and deliver the Potters to him?  You have had ample opportunity, being in such close contact with James and his family these past few days.  Why not kill him, be rid of him, and have your sister back?"

            Severus stared at him, slack in his chair.  For a moment he thought it was beyond him to speak, but then a bubble of weak laughter grew in his throat, erupted into a full fledged, deep-throated laugh he had no idea he was capable of producing.  Dumbledore's expression did not falter in the slightest as Severus sat before him laughing madly.

            When he had regained his breath, he smiled absurdly at the ceiling, shaking his head, and said, "Because I can't do this anymore.  _I won't do it anymore_!"  He snarled abruptly, glaring at a vague spot above his chair.  "Send me to Azkaban if you will—in fact, I recommend it!  Best to get demented psychopaths like me off the street; I won't be able to harm the innocents anymore, will I?"  He started laughing again.  "_You can let your children out to play again, mums, the nasty, greasy murderer's been carted off to prison_!" he continued in a sick sort of singsong, cackling wildly.

            Across the desk, and unbeknownst to Severus, Dumbledore had lit a fire in the large grate behind his desk and was tossing a large pinch of glittering powder into the flames.  "James," he said to the emerald fire, "I apologize for waking you at such a late…or rather, early, hour, but I need to speak with you immediately."

            At those words, Severus sat bolt upright in his chair, gazing in dread as a hunched, spinning figure appeared in Dumbledore's fireplace.  When James Potter stumbled out into the office, blinking dizzily and clad in his stupid dressing gown with a cloak on top, Dumbledore turned to Severus.

            "Tell him what you just told me," he said firmly.

            Potter's look of confusion morphed into disgust as he looked around at Severus.  Caught off guard, Severus could think of nothing to say.  He opened his mouth and made an indistinct noise but could achieve nothing of substance.

            "Is that so?" sneered Potter.  "Useful bit of information, that."  He turned to Dumbledore.  "I suppose he's told you he's been working for Voldemort this whole time, on his orders, trying to get closer to you, eh?" he said, unable to suppress the smugness in his tone.

            Dumbledore said nothing, still staring intently at Severus, who felt a blaze of anger in his chest.

            "Actually," said Severus softly, his low tone just barely discernable over the crackling of the dying flames behind the grate, "I've told him I've been working for the Dark Lord this whole time, on his orders, trying to get closer to _you."  Potter's eyes widened.  "But I wasn't doing a very good job, you see," Severus continued lowly, his lip curling, "so he's kidnapped my sister who you so _valiantly_ rescued the other night and informed me that she would be killed if I didn't finish my job."_

            Potter's jaw went slack; his eyes flew to Dumbledore in horror, as if for confirmation.

            "Good on you," Severus snarled, standing jerkily, "you were right all along, just like you always are.  Don't trust Snape, he's always been rotten, and _certainly incapable of parenting_!"

            "I—I—You've been—" Potter turned helplessly to Dumbledore:  "Why me?"

            "Not necessarily _you_, James," said Dumbledore softly.  But Potter, who seemed to have just now registered the full weight of what Severus had told him, suddenly gazed at Severus as though he hadn't heard Dumbledore at all.

            "They've kidnapped her?" said Potter abruptly, as though he had just now registered the last bit of what Severus had said.  "And she'll be killed if…"  He trailed off, looking stricken.  "Oh God…"

            "Should've given her to you, right?" Severus sneered weakly, his legs shaking again.  "She'd be safe now, safe with you and your _sick_ perfect family…"

            Potter said nothing, and to Severus's fury, was suddenly refusing to look him in the eye.  He turned instead to Dumbledore, swallowing tensely.

            "L-Lord Voldemort wants me," he said shakily, still avoiding Severus's glare.  "But why?  And…" his head twitched nervously in Severus's direction, "what can I…do?"

            "There is nothing you can do for Severus," said Dumbledore quietly.  Severus felt a small, involuntary tick convulse his face.  "And it is not…" The old man sighed heavily.  "It is not _you that Voldemort wants."_

A crease appeared between Potter's eyebrows.  "Not…me?  But then—"  He glanced back at Severus.

Dumbledore shook his head sadly.  "I shall have to explain later, James."  He turned to look at Severus, who was standing dumbly behind his chair, watching the conversation torpidly.  Potter looked at him as well, his expression as his eyes met Severus's different from any expression Severus had seen him wear.  A wild, furious thought laughed in his mind:  _you have their empathy now_!

"You could have killed me, or whatever Voldemort wants; I know you could've done it scores of times," said Potter quietly, slowly.  "Why didn't you?"

Severus said nothing, though his hands balled in anger at the pity he heard in Potter's voice.  After a long moment he angrily spat, in a sad attempt at sarcasm:  "I'm supposed to be Iscariot, remember?  Not Pilate…"

Potter looked down at his hands.

"STOP IT!" Severus burst out.  "I don't need your godforsaken pity!  Why aren't you owling Crouch, eh?" he added, glaring at Dumbledore.  "Or better yet, owl Black personally!  I'm sure the stupid son of a bitch would just love an excuse to—"

"Leave Sirius out of this," snarled Potter, taking a step toward him.  Severus felt a horrible smile growing on his face as a red flush glowed in Potter's cheeks.

"Oh, but _why, Potter?" he sneered, a frantic, wild part of him clinging to the idea of siphoning just a little of his pain and horror into his worst enemy.  "Don't want to share the limelight of _catching_ me?  I suppose I'm not surprised…Always need a little more glory, don't you?  Pump that obesity of a head a bit bigger, Potter, and you just might catch up with the Ministry's newest Auror, the arrogant b—"_

"Enough!" said Dumbledore suddenly, and Severus felt an invisible force, almost like an immensely strong breeze, push him three steps back from Potter.  Potter himself, caught with his hand deep in the pocket of his cloak, had been forced back into Severus's chair and was looking rather stunned.  They both looked at the Headmaster, who suddenly seemed both tall and menacing, his calm exterior shattered to reveal a furious and powerful wizard.  "This is no time for such nonsense!"  He glared at Severus:  "Sit!"

A second chair had appeared directly behind him.  He dropped into it instantly, not daring even to glance sideways at Potter.  A mingled feeling of shame, grief, and dread was creeping slowly through his veins, and he clenched his jaw, staring unseeingly at his fists.

Dumbledore, too, sat in his high backed chair, his shoulders bowing forward for only an instant as he did so, as if he were struggling under some immense, invisible burden.  "Severus," he said tonelessly, "I want you to stay here tonight."

Severus slowly raised his head to stare incredulously at the headmaster.

"What?" he asked dumbly.

"Stay here tonight; do not go back to the Snape Manor."

"I'm not…you're not…sending me to—"

"Not tonight, Severus," said Dumbledore gently.  "I will speak with you soon, but not now."

"Send me to Azkaban," Severus demanded dully, staring Dumbledore directly in the eye.

Potter's eyes widened in astonishment, and he gazed unblinkingly at Severus.

"No," said Dumbledore simply.  "I will speak with you tomorrow, Severus."

There was a hushed tone of finality in his voice, and Severus slowly stood, feeling a dull ache in all his joints.

He paused for a moment, a writhing presence in his chest willing him to say something, but then awkwardly turned and walked toward the door, feeling ethereal.

Just as his fingertips touched the cool handle, Potter's voice rang out softly behind him, sounding (of all the confounded emotions he could've chosen!) _grateful_:

"I—Snape—":

Painful humiliation shot through his chest, and Severus cringed, feeling a wave of nausea crash over him.  Choosing to act as though he hadn't heard Potter, he somehow forced himself to grip the door's handle, twist it, and walk calmly out onto the dark stone staircase, pulling it shut behind him.

He was very suddenly back in his rooms, not remembering the walk down or even uttering the password which must not have been changed since his departure.  He walked slowly into, and through, his bedchamber, stopping only when he had reached the edge of Charity's old bed.  It was unmade.

Not bothering to undress, or even to take off his shoes, he lay down on her bed, his feet dangling limply off the end.  He stared lifelessly at the ceiling, and for once no voices, no images, no thoughts whatsoever invaded his paralyzed mind.

He had no recollection of falling asleep that night.

***

            _His son was the only one who could stop Lord Voldemort.  Harry Potter was the one person Lord Voldemort currently wish dead, more than any other.  His eleven-month old son._

Early morning sunlight was streaming in through the window of their bedroom at home; birds could be heard chattering noisily in the branches of the tree just outside.  James had arrived back home only a quarter of an hour ago, and he had crawled silently back into bed.  He was now sitting up against the headboard, staring dumbly at the opposite wall.  His eyes stung with tiredness but he had no intention of going to sleep.

            He gulped hard, blinking a couple of times, and looked down at Lily.  Her eyelids were fluttering in some contented dream, and her lips twitched minutely now and then.  James ought to wake her, he knew, and break the news to her, try to explain…

            This was the third time he had attempted to bring himself up to the task of waking her.

            "Oh, God," he whispered shakily, leaning his head back and grimacing at the ceiling.  How could this be happening?

            He slumped, sliding wholly underneath the covers, pulling them roughly up around his neck.  A dull ache had settled in his throat and was growing more insistent; his jaw was clenched, eyes screwed shut.  He scooted on his side toward Lily, gently putting his arm over her to pull himself closer.  He pressed his face into her back, between her shoulder blades, desperately fighting the tears welling up behind his eyelids.

            Finally he could hold it in no more, and he began to cry as softly as possible into her soft cotton nightshirt.  His silent sobs gained momentum and the bed began to rattle ever so slightly as he shook with them.

            Suddenly Lily jerked awake in his embrace.

            "What—James?" she said confusedly, pushing his arm back a little to twist around and look at him.  "What's wrong?  What's happened to you?"

            James choked uselessly, and then shook his head.  Lily put her hands under his chin, lifting his face.

            "_What happened?" she repeated frantically, shaking his head a little._

            James took a deep breath.  "I've just been—to see Dumbledore," he managed.  "Lily—Lily, we need to talk."

***

_Tap, tap, tap._

Severus stared blankly at the ceiling, wondering vaguely what time it was.

_Tap, tap, tap._

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes.  They burned terribly, which made him wonder what time it was that he had stopped blinking.  He rolled over onto his side, ignoring a dull pain in his neck, dutifully ignoring the noise echoing through his chambers from his office door.

"Alohamora."

Severus groaned, sitting up quickly.  The clock on the wall, Severus noted with a small jolt, read two in the afternoon.

"Severus," Dumbledore's voice, though soft, carried into Charity's old chamber from his office.

"In a moment," croaked Severus, suddenly becoming aware of how raw his throat felt.  He stumbled to his feet, feeling as though he had a bad hangover.  "Eugh," he moaned softly, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.  "Coming."

Dumbledore was waiting for him; an ornate tray bearing a teapot and two mugs sat steaming upon his desk.  Severus sank slowly into the chair behind it.  He grabbed a mug from the tray and began to pour tea into it as an excuse not to look up at the old man.  He downed his tea in one gulp as Dumbledore sat down opposite him, reveling in the feeling of it scalding its way down his already sore esophagus.  When he had finished, Dumbledore remained silent.

"What now?" asked Severus disinterestedly, fingering the handle of his mug and staring down at the old, meaningless papers scattered across his desk.

"There are things that still need to be clarified," said Dumbledore, his voice almost gravelly.  The bags beneath his eyes seemed to sag with more cargo than they had the night before, and the whites of the old man's eyes were sectored by spidery red. "You said last night you suspected Lord Voldemort of having one of your fellow Death Eaters spy on you," he continued slowly.

"That I did," said Severus, staring hard at an invisible something beneath his left thumbnail.

"You have no idea who it was?"

"No," he sighed wearily, his hands blurring under his unfocused gaze.  "I remember one meeting…I noticed there was an extra Death Eater—we're all hooded during these meetings, and it's always dark," he added, "and I remember I didn't know who it was, but I wondered why he hadn't been presented formally like they usually are." He fought down the irrational urge to sweep all the papers off of his desk in one swift, violent movement. "That's who it was, I'm sure of it."

"I see," said Dumbledore tersely, splaying his bony fingers on the desk.  He shook his head slowly, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, and Severus chanced a glance up at him.

"You have two options, Severus," he said at last, capturing Severus's eyes.  Severus felt his chest constrict but did not show it.  "You may turn yourself into the Ministry, whereupon you will probably be given a life sentence in Azkaban without trial, or you may do what I ask of you."

Severus looked up at him, gripping his mug with both hands.

"I am the head of an Order," said the headmaster quietly, as though the shadows themselves would go shouting his words down the corridors at the first chance they got, "whose main purpose is to do anything and everything it can to stop Lord Voldemort from gaining the kind of power he has sought after all these years.  One thing we desperately need—"

_No_, a voice in Severus's head pleaded weakly.  _Not that…not again—_

"—is a spy."

"_Oh, gods," whispered Severus aloud, grimacing._

"You are the prime person for this job," said Dumbledore intensely, leaning forward.  Severus could feel Dumbledore's clear blue eyes boring down on him.  "You could continue to work here as a teacher, continue to attend Death Eater meetings regularly, and report back to me after each meeting..."

Severus shook his head, staring blindly down at his desk.

"Your agenda will be no different than it has been," said Dumbledore coldly.  "Except that you'll be serving a different purpose…I need to know who that extra Death Eater is."

"It would never work," Severus whispered.  "The Dark Lord always knows, he _always knows_ when you're lying—"

"No," said Dumbledore.  "Lord Voldemort would have no way of telling if you were lying or not, Severus."

Bewildered, Severus slowly raised his eyes to meet Dumbledore's, which were shining with a peculiar sort of light.

"Not this time," the old man said slowly.

***

The five of them sat in silence around James's kitchen table.  The plate of sandwiches that Lily had somehow obligated herself to make for them lay neglected, cold and hard as marble in the center of the table.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" said Sirius gruffly, his lips falling into a thin, hard line.  "Why didn't you tell me straight off when Snape confessed?"

James said nothing.

"What would you have done, Sirius?" said Remus softly, glancing sideways at James as he spoke.  "You would have turned him in, made sure he was in Azkaban by next _week_!"

"_And what's wrong with that, eh?_" Sirius snarled, letting his fist drop on the table.  "That scum deserves everything he gets!  And I wouldn't have stopped at Azkaban, either," he added with a twisted smile, scraping his fingernails against the wood.  "I would've seen him Kissed before the end of it—"

"And his sister?" James said, and Sirius fell silent instantly, his dark eyes flicking towards his best friend.  "You'd sentence her to death so easily?"  James gave Sirius a cold look.

"She already has been, James," said Sirius as gently as he could.  "For Voldemort to have his hands on someone so young…She's as good as—"

"You're _wrong!_" James shouted suddenly, jumping to his feet.

"James!" Lily cried brokenly, "please, don't—"

"Mate," said Sirius, rising cautiously, his wide eyes fixed on James. "I didn't mean to—"

"What?  You didn't mean to what?" James bellowed.  "And you wonder why I didn't tell you?  You don't care what happens to anybody, you don't think things through, Sirius!  You just do whatever makes you feel good…whatever makes you feel _important_.  For God's sake, do you even _care_ what happens to Harry?"

The room went as silent as a grave.  Sirius's mouth fell open, his eyebrows drawing together.  For a moment he simply stared at James, and then he seemed to crumple, fell limply into his chair as though shot by Stunner.

James grimaced and allowed Lily to pull him back into his own seat.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, staring at the top of Sirius's glossy head through his fingers.  "You know I didn't mean that."

"I know," said Sirius, swallowing hard.  But he would not look up at James.

"This all happened so suddenly," said Remus quietly as the room regained its calm, "I think we're all just shocked, just…caught off guard…"

"You think," James spat bitterly.

"We just have to decide what to do about it," Remus went on persistently.  

"What d'you mean, 'we,'" James said, scowling up at him.  "It's not your problem, is it?"

At last Sirius raised his head.  "You prat," he said solemnly.  "It _absolutely_ is my problem."

"And mine," said Peter quickly.

"And mine," said Remus firmly.

"But what could you all do to help me, now?" said James desperately.

"Anything we can," said Remus.

"_Everything_ we can," said Sirius, reaching across the table to place a hand on James's forearm.

"We're here for you, mate," said Peter, grinning. "Till the end."

***

            Severus, panting, collapsed into one of the chairs before Dumbledore's desk, his wand hanging limply from his hand.

            "You have an exceptional gift for this," said Dumbledore, calmly seating himself behind his desk and setting his wand upon it.

            "Not good enough," breathed Severus heavily, glaring at the desk.

            "Not to mention remarkable endurance," Dumbledore continued, ignoring his comment.  "To have mastered the basic concepts of such a difficult subject in three hours is no mean feat, Severus."

            "Don't flatter me," Severus spat, wrenching himself upright in his chair.  "If the Dark Lord were to Call me tonight, would you consider me ready?"

            "I would consider you able," said Dumbledore broodingly.  "Only you can determine whether you are _ready_ or not."

 Severus took a deep breath and closed his eyes.  He could feel tiredness oozing like some glutinous poison through his body; slowly it drained the energy from each of his limbs and left in its place a dull but pleasurable tingling.  His chin sank to his chest, and he felt he could fall asleep right there in that rigid chair from sheer exhaustion; he felt his wand sliding slowly through his fingertips…   

_I would think someone of your _intelligence_ would have realized you couldn't evade me for l—_

"_Again!_" Severus snarled, his eyes flying open.  His hand clenched over the end of his wand just before it dropped, and he was on his feet before he decided to stand.

Dumbledore immediately stood with no objections and raised his wand.

"One, two, three_,_" the old man said deliberately, "_Legilimens!_"

_First potions class, duel with Potter on the train fourth year, Mother's nose bleeding, "he's no heir apparent—he's sickly, _look_ at him!", O.W.L. results in the mail—received a bloody 'A' in Herbology, butterbeer in the Leaky Cauldron with Charity, drunk in the Three Broomsticks, taunting Potter in the Three Broomsticks—_

"_REDUCTO!_"

Dumbledore was blasted into his chair, his hair flying forward in silver-white ribbons.  "Well done," he panted, his blue eyes bright.

"Not…_good enough_…" Severus gasped, and then fell forward.  Luckily for him, he was already unconscious by the time he crashed into the desk, and he slid to the floor without even twitching.

***

            "I'm coming," Lily said stubbornly, squashing Harry's chubby foot into a sunshine-yellow sock.  "We're _both_ coming," she said, smiling at Harry as his little hands tugged at the air, imitating her.

            "No, you're _not,_" James said seriously, shrugging on his cloak.  "It's not safe."

            "Don't be ridiculous," snapped Lily, glaring at him.  "You think our house is safer than Hogwarts?"

            "Quite frankly, at the moment—"

            "Oy, mate, how old's this leftover pork in here?"

            Lily's hair whipped in James's face as she turned to face the doorway between the kitchen and the living room.  "What the—!  Sirius, what are you still _doing_ here?"

            They heard the sound of the refrigerator being shut, and then Sirius appeared, leaning casually against the doorway with a plate of cold meat in his hand.  "Your hubby told me to stay," he said, raising his eyebrows.

            "_James!_" she snarled, rounding on him.

            "Lily, listen to me," said James exasperatedly, gripping her shoulders.  "_Please_, just stay here with Sirius until I get back—I _know_ this affects all of us," he added loudly as she made to interject.  "But I just…I don't want you to…You understand, I _know_ you do, Lil."

            She stared at him with a disgusted pout on her face.  Then she sighed, closed her eyes and shook her head.  "Well, for God's _sake_, James, I can take care of myself," she muttered, her eyes flickering toward the kitchen doorway.  "You don't have to order _him_ to look after me every time you leave the house!"

            "Heard that," said Sirius from across the room, contemplating his pork.

            "None of us can take on Voldemort by ourselves," James whispered sternly.

            "Maybe that's why I wanted to come with you," Lily hissed through gritted teeth.

            They stared each other hard in the eyes for a moment, and then James leaned down and kissed her briefly.

            "I'll be back soon," he whispered in her ear.  He straightened, ran a hand over Harry's head, and disapparated.  Lily glared at the spot where he had stood.

            "So," said Sirius, striding to the chair in the corner and falling into it with his now half-empty plate.  He grinned at Lily. "What do you say to a snog?"

"Oh, shut _up,_" barked Lily, throwing Harry's coat at him.

***

            James had only knocked once when Albus's door flew open.

            "Sir," said James quickly, falling into old habit.  He lowered his fist.  "Albus, I came to talk to you about—"

            "Yes, yes, do come in," interrupted Albus, flapping his hand and glancing distractedly behind him as he stepped aside.

            "Thanks," said James, stepping inside the office.  Then he stopped dead, staring at the chair in front of him.  "Albus…?"

            The unconscious form of Severus Snape was draped limply across that chair.  His mouth was hanging halfway open and his face was deathly pale.  A large gash was lurking just below his hairline above his left eye; a patch of dried blood had seeped down to his eyebrow.

            "We've been practicing Occlumency," said Albus mildly, sitting behind his desk.

            "Ah," said James unsurely, unwilling to sit down in the chair next to Snape.

            "Don't mind him," said Albus, glancing at Snape. "He's been asleep for a quarter of an hour already, and from the looks of things he isn't planning to return to consciousness any time soon,"

            "Erm, right," said James, sitting hesitantly in the empty chair, his eyes still on Snape.

"What was it you wanted to discuss?" asked Albus.

James tore his eyes away from Snape.  He opened his mouth, and then hesitated, figuring out how exactly to word this.  "What I can do," he said.  "What…what _we_ can do, Lily and I…to protect ourselves."

Albus nodded solemnly.  "I have been thinking about this," he said.  He sighed deeply, then went on.  "I'm afraid the time has come for drastic measures, James."

James swallowed convulsively, feeling as though ice was steadily sliding down his throat and collecting in the pit of his stomach.  "What do you mean by 'drastic?'" he asked apprehensively.

"I mean," said Albus carefully, "that Voldemort knows too much already, more than I ever guessed he knew, possibly even more than we have discovered so far.  There is so much at stake," he added earnestly.  "We have far more than simply a child to save." 

James nodded, struggling to accept this fact while fighting the impulse to shout at Albus, to snarl:  'he's my _son,_ not your weapon!'

Instead he took a deep breath, calming his stomach, and asked in a shaking voice, "what are you suggesting?"  

"The Fidelius Charm."

James felt all the air in his lungs wheeze out of him.  "_Fidelius?_" he croaked, "but—"

"I can think of no other option," said Albus.  "If you can think of an idea more suitable, then please…" he made an opening gesture with his hands.

            "But there _must_ be something else," said James desperately.  "I mean, I—I'd have to stop teaching… I'd have to stop _everything_, I—"

            "You would be isolated, yes," said Albus grimly.  "You and Lily would not be able to leave the house, and you would see no one other than your Secret Keeper."

            James stared at him, not wanting to believe his ears.  "For how long?" he croaked.

            "I cannot say," said Albus quietly.  "A month, a year…until it is safe enough for you to return."

"_A year_," James mouthed, coldness sweeping over him.

Albus reached across his desk and touched James's forearm.  "I understand how hard this is for you," he said, his eyes boring into the top of James's head.  "But I am afraid it's become a matter of urgency."

"I just—it all happened so suddenly," James said numbly, echoing Remus's words.  "I can't even think….Who would be our Secret Keeper?" he looked up, then answered himself.  "Sirius," he said firmly.

Albus closed his eyes, removed his hand from James's arm.

"What?" snapped James.  "_What?_"

"There is another matter I wish to discuss with you," he said quietly.

"About Sirius?" asked James immediately, feeling a tingle of defensive anger in his chest.

"Possibly," said Albus.  He paused at length, the expression on his face unreadable.  James watched him until he could bear it no more.

"Oh, Christ, just _tell_ me," he moaned, pressing his palm against his forehead.

"I believe one of your friends is secretly a Death Eater," said Albus.

A tiny explosion went off inside James's skull, making his ears ring.  His hand left his forehead; it hovered over his mouth for a moment, then dropped like a lead weight to his lap.  "No," he denied simply, almost laughing.

"Voldemort found Severus mere hours after he confessed, James," Albus went on.  James glanced again at Snape, who was looking for all the world as though he'd died several days previous and had lain rotting in that chair ever since.  "Severus didn't confess to anyone but you; he didn't even see anyone else that night."

Realization began to sink in, and James felt his stomach clench.  "_This is ludicrous_," he hissed, a sharp pain shooting through one side of his jaw.

"Did you tell anyone else that Snape confessed, other than your friends?"

"No!"

"Who else could have told Voldemort?" asked Albus, his blue eyes steady on James's.

"I—this is—you _can't_ believe this, Albus!"  said James loudly, his heart pounding in his throat.  "How can you be sure that…that he isn't _lying_?"  He sharply jerked his head, indicating Snape.

"He isn't," said Albus.  "In fact, he mentioned several times that he had noticed an extra Death Eater who had been attending meetings, someone who hadn't been formally inducted, who he didn't know—"

"NO!" bellowed James again, his nostrils flaring.

"_Voldemort knows about the Prophecy, James._"

James felt suddenly lightheaded.  "He could've found out from someone else…I mean, you didn't tell any of us until just yesterday…."

"There was an eavesdropper at the pub when Sibyl prophesied," Albus explained.  "A cloaked man…I never saw who he was; he was thrown out before the Prophecy had been completely finished.  It was someone who knew I was to meet with a possible Divination teacher that day.  Someone close."

"It could be anyone," James insisted weakly, swaying in his chair.  "It could have been anyone…._Him!_" he pointed at Snape again.  "He said he was spying on me, didn't he?"

"I have asked him.  He has never heard of the Prophecy; he is still oblivious.  Lord Voldemort never even told him."

James shook his head

"This can't be," James whispered hoarsely.  "_They wouldn't do that to me!_"  

"I'm sorry," said Albus softly, his eyes upon his hands.

"_SORRY ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH!_" James bellowed, pounding his fist against the arm of his chair.  

            "_What—!_"

            "GOD_ DAMMIT!_" He lurched to his feet, blind to everything in the whole office.  He turned frantically left, then right, caged like a wild animal.  His hand twisted in his hair, but he had nowhere to go.

            "James, please—"

            "_Would anyone care to explain—_"

            "James, I'm sorry, but _please_, you must sit down, you can't leave this office yet!"

            "Who would do this to me?" James growled.  "How could any of them do this to—"

            "FOR MERLIN'S SAKE!  _What_ _the hell is going on?_"

            James blinked, his eyes clearing, and saw a resurrected Snape standing in front of him, white faced and sneering.

            "Severus," said Albus, his voice slightly unsteady, "please go and wait in your office.  We will resume your…your training later."

            Snape, a deep line forming between his tilted eyebrows, moved his eyes slowly from a pale Albus to a shaking James.  He shook his head, threw his hands up in gesture of surrender, and stalked to the office door.  It banged violently shut behind him.

            Albus turned again to James.  "Sit down," he repeated.

            James sank into his chair, his breath ragged.  Albus allowed him a moment to rest his head in his hand, to regain his breath.  When their eyes met again, Albus spoke:

            "I will be your Secret-Keeper."

            A fleeting thought flashed across James's mind:  an undetermined period of time trapped in a house, with only Albus Dumbledore to visit them.  As much as he appreciated the old man, he couldn't stand the thought…. Then he remembered Lily and Harry at home, remembered Sirius staying there for him to make sure they were all right…and he knew he ought to feel some sort of apprehension, panic even, after what Albus had just told him.  But he didn't.  And suddenly he realized…

            _Why didn't you tell me straight off when Snape confessed? _

"Sirius!"

            "James…" Albus began exasperatedly.

            "Listen, I didn't tell Sirius about Snape until today!" James began, a tiny spark of hope leaping to life in his stomach.  "Don't you remember?  I didn't bring him in here with me…_It couldn't have been Sirius!_"

            Which meant it was either Remus or Peter…James tried to push that thought away.

            To James's surprised, Albus was not at all appeased.  He shook his head.  "Please, James, just let me.  It is _not_," he added quickly as James made to protest, "that I don't trust Sirius—but he is young to be handed such a—"

            "He'd do anything for me," James said stubbornly.  "He'd die for me."

            "And you for him?"

            "_Yes!_"

            Albus stared at him.  "This decision is no one's but yours," he said earnestly, "but I offer myself once more.  _Please_."

            James sat up straighter in his seat, stared unwaveringly into Albus's eyes, and repeated firmly, "Sirius."

            Albus studied him carefully.  "Very well," he said at last.  "Arrangements will be made.  As soon as possible."

            James nodded, his stomach churning.

            "Talk to Lily and Sirius about this—do _not _mention it to Remus or Peter—and bring them both back here with you when you are ready."

            "I will," said James, standing.

            "_Hurry_, James," said Albus gravely, standing as well.  "And be careful."

            "Thank you, sir," said James, hurrying out the door.

            Albus watched him go, a sense of dread twisting inside him.

            "Do not thank me yet," he whispered.

***

            Severus paced the interior of his office, wondering if ever there would be a tragedy in his own life plausible enough make him priority over Potter in Dumbledore's eyes.  His sister—his _sister,_ for God's sake! –was currently in the claws of Death Eaters unknown, and Dumbledore had the nerve to order him out of his office so that James Potter could obsess about his measly problems.

            _So_ _Lord Voldemort wants wholesome James Potter dead,_ Severus thought bitterly.  _That poor, tormented man.  Never mind the fact that _I_ the one who must carry out the Dark Lord's every whim, _I_ am the one who must face him whenever he Calls, _I _am the one who has suffered the most loss due to his 'master plan!'_

            "But if I die, or if I lose," Severus hissed aloud, "it doesn't matter to _them_.  It doesn't matter to _anybody._  I," he drawled sarcastically to himself, plopping into his desk chair and propping his long legs upon his desk, "am a _puppet._"

            _Just like Father._

            "Shut up."

            Uncaringly aware that his strenuous Occlumency training of the past few hours had probably rendered him irreparably insane, Severus randomly grabbed a messy stack of papers from the corner of his desk.  They were essays he had forced upon his fifth year class two days ago, ones he had not yet graded.  He suddenly realized he had classes again tomorrow.

            "'Sorry, class,'" he chortled bitterly, dropping the stack back on his desk, which caused several stray papers to flutter mindlessly to the floor.  "'I guess the time just _slipped_ away from me this weekend…'"

            _Everything I do is a mistake._

            Severus drummed his fingers on the desk, checked the clock on the wall.  Five-thirty in the afternoon already.  He wished Dumbledore would come so he wouldn't have to be trapped alone with himself any longer.

            Absentmindedly he prodded the large scab on the palm of his left hand; it was still very sore.  He began dutifully picking at it, baring his teeth as he did so, until a tiny bit of blood bubbled to the surface.  He smeared it over his skin boredly, listening to the thundering second-hand of the clock.

            Suddenly his bleeding hand clenched into a fist, his whole body seizing up.

            "Oh," he whimpered, "_no…_"  He arched forward into a quivering ball, poised on his chair.  He gripped his knees, feeling a silent scream being drawn from him as though by a razor sharp hook lodged deep inside his chest.

            _Not yet…!_

            "_Dumbledore!_" he roared uselessly, spasms of pain ripping through him.

            He pushed up his left sleeve with a shaking hand.  The Mark was black.

            "But I _can't…Ah!_"

            _I believe you are able._

            He lurched to his feet with this last wave of pain and pulled the drawer of his desk open so hard that it was completely wrenched out.  It swung vertical from his hand and a shower of quills, ink bottles, and other odd assortments smashed all over the floor.

            "_Shit_…!"  He fell to his knees, throwing the empty drawer aside, and began to dig through the mess on the floor, ink staining his hands and entering the tiny cuts he received from the shards of ink bottle and tips of quills scattered before him.  Finally his shaking hands found what they were after; that small container full of glittering powder with a tiny etching of the Dark Mark—

            He struggled to his feet once more, falling against his desk as another spasm ripped though him.  He slammed the container down on the desk and reached for his cloak, only to realize he'd left it at Snape Manor.  Growling in frustration he loped to the fireplace, wrenching the container open and taking a more than adequate amount of powder in his fist.

            "_Gods,_" he whispered shakily, setting the container upon the stone floor beside the hearth.  He tossed the Dark Lord's floo powder into the fireplace and the flames roared, glittering, into life.  He stared at them, hardly breathing, unwilling to move.  Then he took a deep breath, closing his eyes.  He allowed his sister's face to swim in his mind for one more moment, and one moment only.  Then he opened his eyes.  With a gut wrenching effort, he emptied his mind, his entire being, of emotion.

            He smiled coldly and stepped into the flames.


End file.
